The Mark of the Talon
by Comorep677
Summary: After an attempt on T'Challa's life in London and the resurgence of the once long gone Overwatch, the Black Panther and Spider-Man believe that there is more to the escape of Wakandan terrorist Akande Ogundimu from prison than meets the eye. The Avengers' absence since Loki's invasion has left evil brewing across the pond, and it is time to assemble once again to stop it.
1. Chapter 1

**hey**

 **all the info for this story is at the end of the chapter**

* * *

"Where are you? Our flight leaves in an hour, and Oxford won't take you into the program if you are late," an angry, deep voice with a Xhosan-like accent and great authority reminded him over speaker phone as he threw three weeks worth of clothes in an old suitcase and as much spare change as he could possibly find. He'd need to do laundry often, with his schedule.

"Uhh," uttered the Oxford-bound young man intelligently, "I'm at Sutter and 150th, I should be there in 15 minutes."

"Peter," the man said bluntly, "you are at home. You're throwing things in your suitcase like you're robbing yourself."

Peter smiled nervously. "What? No, I'm not, I-"

"Turn around," he said.

Peter glanced back, doing a double take as a blue hologram of an imposing man with thick, extremely short but curly hair wearing a suit and a beaded bracelet appeared hovering over his phone on his desk with his arms folded. He stayed bent over and froze in a mixture of embarrassment and shame. "King T'Challa," he said weakly with his bullshit smile, seeing not the slightest change from the man's stern expression. "You can do that," he said, continuing to pack as many socks as he could into the suitcase.

"The Kimoyo Beads," T'Challa said, tapping on his bracelet. "Full AV control through any device, revealer of lies, scolder of the tardy."

"You're very funny," Peter said dryly, opening his backpack and ever so gently sliding his red and black laptop with the charger inside, "but you know me, I'll be over there in no time."

"Well 'no time' is running short," T'Challa said, "I'll be waiting by TSA." He flashed a smile. "See you soon." He cut the transmission, putting Peter in an even greater panic.

"Peter?" an elderly woman's shaky voice called from downstairs. "You need to leave right now or else you're going to miss your flight!"

Peter scanned his cluttered room for anything else he'd need for his trip like a police dog sniffing for drugs, deciding to throw in a couple extra pairs of underwear just in case. He stuffed his phone in his pocket and patted the other one for his wallet. "Yes, Aunt May! I'm coming down!"

He darted for the door but like a fly futilely fleeing the spider's web he ended up at his closet instead. "I can't believe I almost forgot," he grumbled under his breath, pulling the doors open and reaching for a thin box on the top shelf, about the length of his arm and stuffed to the brim based on the lack of shuffling items inside. He slid it in the secondary compartment of his hiking-sized backpack, compensating for his smaller suitcase. He felt around the top shelf of his closet again, patting himself on the back for a job well done. He took a look at himself in the closet mirror, thinking that he should probably comb his hair. He was tall and lean with fair skin, brown eyes and short, straight brown hair which, at the moment, was sprawled all over his hair. He wore a pair of blue jeans, white sneakers, a white tee shirt with "Stark BioTech" slanted in black across the chest, a red zip-up hoodie with white drawstrings, and finally, a pair of black-rimmed glasses that he didn't need, at least not anymore.

"Peter!" Aunt May called out again.

"I'm just looking for my passport," he lied, but patting his front pocket just to be sure, "I'm walking out of the door right now!" He quickly rummaged through his desk, closing it again before throwing his backpack on and running out with his suitcase. The Christmas decorations were still up, with the light decor wrapping around the outer handrail to the wooden staircase leading straight down against walls painted yellow. He dashed down the stairs, seeing a short, frail woman with long, white hair in a bun wearing a pink dress stand on a stool as she picked ornaments off the Christmas tree that sat in a small living room next to the kitchen in their apartment one at a time. He ran up to her, tapping her on the shoulder. "Aunt May-"

"Oh!" May exclaimed, fumbling with a red glass ball ornament that Peter caught out of the air and handed back to her. She giggled at her fright, slapping his free hand. "You startled me, Peter, you know I'm hard of hearing now." She stepped down from the stool, hugging him tightly and kissing him on the cheeks and the forehead.

"I'll call you when we're about to board," Peter said.

"Stay safe," May said with a motherly concern. "And call me once you land too. I need to make sure you get there in one piece so I can go to bed. Now get going!"

Peter laughed warmly, pulling his bike helmet from the coat rack and a black, dented skateboard from the front closet. "I'll miss you too, and I'll let you know as soon as I activate the international plan."

"Oh, you're going to have such a wonderful time," May said dreamily, waving her young nephew off. "Go and have yourself an adventure you'll never forget."

"I'll send pictures!" he said excitedly, running out the door and toward the staircase of their building. He casually jumped down twelve steep steps, doing that for two more flights before sheepishly running past a woman in a suit carefully stepping down the loud, metal stairs in heels. She probably heard the noises from upstairs. He rushed out the door and looked up at his city, taking the smell, sounds, and sights of the magnificent skyscrapers and the public train running just under the skyline they made for the last time in a while. It was cold, freezing, actually, with snow and frost turning his cheeks and nose bright red. "Should have worn a jacket," he said to himself, not wanting to bother opening his suitcase to pull out his coat. He looked at his phone, nearly dropping it in shock. "45 minutes," he said, shivering as he looked unfavorably upon the half-shoveled sidewalks riddled with ice patches. "I can make it." He took a running head start and pushed off on the skateboard, holding his suitcase to the side as he slipped around each ice patch and around a stadium connected to a nearby college campus. He leaned forward slightly to increase his speed as he came upon a hill going straight down to a pile of snow at the edge of the block. "Oh," he muttered, crouching apprehensively as he gathered speed, "this might not end well."

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fumbled to pull it out, hastily pressing it to his ear. "They have begun boarding," T'Challa warned him, "you need to hurry up- are you taking a cab?"

Peter approached the snow and ollied over it, along with the people at the stop sign. "Duck!"

"Duck?"

"Sorry, sorry," Peter said, landing hard in the middle of the street and barely missing a van that would have flattened him, "nine foot vertical leap over a family of five, it's been a crazy day, Your Highness."

"Where are you now?" he said, sounding a bit annoyed.

Peter sped down four more blocks faster than a man on a skateboard with a backpack probably should safely. "115th and Brewer, I'm gonna take a shortcut through the park and I'll be there in 10." He took a sharp turn and jumped onto a rail dodging a woman and her dog. "Excuse me!"

"You're going to break that skateboard," T'Challa said plainly.

Peter stuck the landing. "No I won't," he said, continuing through the park and sailing around a pond. "This skateboard has seen some of New York's toughest battles, and the most rigorous search for a nearby port-a-potty to change in-" He gasped as a curve around a tight corner to dodge a slow-walking group of teenagers slid him onto a patch of ice. His board rocketed out from under him, hitting a tree and splitting in half. Peter had a better fate, rolling to his feet to the mocking laughter of a flock of sophomores. He stared broken-hearted at his ride, snapped in two under a pile of snow by the tree. "I'll be there soon."

"You broke the skateboard," T'Challa said.

Peter turned toward his course and started running like his life depended on it, silencing the taunts behind him with distance. "Technically the _tree_ broke the skateboard."

"If you were as fast at running as you were at making quips, you would be here already."

"I can see the airport now- terminal 2?" He ran into the parking lot, quickly scanning the map and dashing into the nearest closing elevator. "Wait wait wait-" He wedged his foot in the door, making the man whose pudgy finger nearly crushed the "door close" button roll his eyes impatiently. It didn't work, for the doors opened in Peter's favor.

Peter nudged his way into the elevator, filling it like the last sardine in the tin and spilling out of it into the long walkway with tall glass windows on either side. He checked his phone again, feeling cold sweat run down his forehead. "3:15," it read.

"Five minutes to boarding," he told himself as motivation, clearing that half a mile stretch in just under a minute and skidding in front of the check-in kiosks. His fingers were fire, flashing through screens and printing out tags like no tomorrow.

"Could you hurry up?" the pudgy-fingered man said spittily down his neck.

Peter counted four open kiosks with a quick glance. "Chill out!" Peter snapped, printing out his boarding pass and carefully placing his suitcase on the belt. He frantically looked at all the signs, dashing forward toward the security gates where hundreds of people were stuck in a long, winding line, all looking bored, impatient, or just annoyed. He pushed his way through the crowd, emerging victorious on the other side and smiling at the patient man waiting for him with the same expression earlier by a special security gate. T'Challa was a tall and well-built man with a perfectly trimmed, curly black beard that thinned into a neat goatee and vibrant, dark amber eyes. He wore a black and white suit without the tie that gave his upper body a nice "V" shape, leaving top button open as if the casual look would offset his intense stare. For Peter, it didn't.

"Glad you could make it," he said, gesturing toward the security line for them. "I'm certain you had a lot of last minute preparations the night before as well."

"Please, I am so sorry," he said remorsefully, following T'Challa through the separate security line where he simply flashed a completely black card to the two security agents who waved him through without a second thought. "I was out early this morning 'sweeping up' after a 'big bug' that kept trying to 'sting me,' I didn't get back home until one o'clock.'"

"The boy is with me," T'Challa said. The security agents hurriedly waved him through, except for a quick pat down by the agent who stepped aside for the king. Peter joined him again as he picked up his black, thin briefcase from the X-ray belt, heading toward the gate another quarter mile away, according to the map on the wall in the center of all the flags. Peter threw his backpack over his shoulder and kept walking, trying to keep up with his long, fast strides. "I understand, Peter, but you have forgotten what I've told you, even for the smallest situations."

Peter sighed. "I should have started packing three nights before, rather than the hour."

"Always have a contingency," he said, quickening his pace from a jog to a full sprint as the clock hit 3:19 on the dot. "The smart man may carry a shield but a living man knows it can only block one attack at a time. You?" He turned back to look at the young man staying just behind him. "You wear a backpack."

"How does that affect the proverb?"

"You dodge everything unexpected, but get slapped in the face by procrastination."

Peter laughed, finally stopping at a short line of the last few passengers getting on the plane. "We made it."

"The airport cannot fly," T'Challa quipped, strolling in with a regality in his step. Peter swiped in next, following him down the ramp and into the plane. They grinned at the flight staff and turned toward the front, with Peter's jaw dropping at the luxury before him. "We are seats 1A and 1D, you get the window seat," he said, letting Peter into a row just behind the cockpit with his own lounge chair, leather armrest, personal television, dining menu, and a raisable divider between his seat and the well-dressed, pale old woman already resting in the chair next to his. Finally, there was not just one window seat, but two.

"This entire thing is mine?" Peter said, pointing suspiciously at the seat.

"I would have put us together, but your aunt asked me to return the favor of you 'helping me to the Embassy' at the last minute. We would have "

"Oh, no, thank you so much, I can't- I-" he said, thinking this was overkill for helping him keep New York safe again, "I'm legitimately angry at how nice this is." Peter looked up at the king, seeing a smile flash across his face. "The ball's in my court, isn't it? I owe you a favor now?"

He chuckled warmly, turning to the other end of the row. "Enjoy," he said, sliding into his window seat and glancing out the window at the falling snow for a moment before picking up the menu to thumb through it.

"All passengers now boarded, all doors closing," the pilot with a light, British accent announced softly over the intercom. "Hello all, my name is Liam and I'm your pilot today. The time is currently 15:35, flight time is currently at six hours and fifty seven minutes with an average altitude of about 9000 meters and an incoming temperature at Heathrow of negative two and overcast so pull off those winter jackets and plan yourself a trip to Dover's beach while it's still warm." He waited for a few chuckles in the back. "Today is the seventh of January, 2017, please strap yourselves in and turn your attention to the stewards and stewardesses who will instruct you on proper aircraft safety procedure. Thank you for choosing British Airways."

The team of flight attendants walked up from the back of the plane and T'Challa turned to pull up the divider. He briefly looked at the woman next to him, reading a book with one white earbud in her ear in the shape of an angel wing. She was a slim and curvy woman with platinum blonde with light skin, prominent and rosy cheeks, pouty lips, and bright blue eyes. She wore white jeans that showed off her long legs and a red blouse with a pair of tall brown winter boots. Her shoulder-length hair was kept in a braided ponytail she played with nonchalantly as she read her book with a caduceus on the back cover. "Excuse me," he said, drawing her side glance. "Do you mind if I pull this up?"

"Not at all," she said with a Swiss-French accent, looking down at his suit and back at his face as he slowly pulled up the beige plastic wall between them. "Pouvez-vous me comprendre maintenant?" she asked quickly.

T'Challa stopped pulling, peering over the wall inquisitively. "Come again?"

She smiled, turning back to her book. "Nothing, it's not important."

T'Challa smiled back courteously and finished pulling the divider up, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. He tapped his bracelet. "Stark," he said, bringing up another hologram of a middle-aged man wearing tinted glasses and a white lab coat. He was floating upside down with his arms outstretched, slowly spinning around.

"Head of state," Stark said. "It's been awhile."

"I am on the way to London with Peter right now, seeing him off while taking care of some PR with the prime minister on Monday," he said, "I was planning on making this a quick trip but it's been a minute since I've visited so I might stay for a week or so- I was hoping you and Banner were in your London office so I could observe the progress of our 'integration.'"

"What are the chances of me- wait a minute." Stark spun slowly, keeping eye contact with the King the whole time until he was vertical. "Much better. It's less awkward talking to someone sideways like that. Anyway, what are the chances of me spinning around in an anti-gravity chamber in London out of all the other places in the world?"

"You tell me-"

"Wait a minute."

T'Challa waited in amused silence, watching the scientist wait with his arms folded as he turned upside down again.

"100 percent chance," Stark said, making the king chuckle.

"When will it be a good time for me to visit, Tony?"

Tony turned to someone out of the camera's range, giving them a thumb up. He dropped from the floating state he was in to his feet. "Come by at eleven tomorrow morning, I'll let you test out a couple of the new toys at the facility."

"I'm looking forward to it, see you soon," he said, giving him a quick smile and wave before tapping the beads again and ending the call.

"All flight attendants must prepare for takeoff," the pilot said, starting the engines with a loud, high-pitched whirring.

T'Challa looked out the front window again, watching the city leave him as the plane soared into the sky and above the grey clouds. The monotonous white, rolling sight under him turned him to his briefcase, pulling out a sleek, white, unmarked laptop and opening it to the last page of the CLR James novel he was reading for the third time. He tapped his beads again after finishing the book fully content, bringing up Peter's hologram frustratedly clicking away at his laptop screen with his mousepad on the wide armrest. "You look like you're losing," he said bluntly.

"Yeah, thanks," Peter said dryly, throwing up his hands and taking a deep breath.

"Maybe you should take a break?" T'Challa suggested.

"This one player called has been sitting in the lobby ever since we reached peak altitude," Peter said in an agitated tone, "I think she used to be the world champ, now she's in the game reminding me why I think that."

"Don't let it get to you, Peter," T'Challa said with a chuckle, "it's just a game."

"You're right, you're right," Peter said with a laugh, "I just didn't expect to get thrashed 40 times in a row. Alright, I guess I'll read."

"Remember that clear card I told you to bring? You still have it, right?"

Peter's eyes widened and he felt around in his jacket pocket. "Yes, it's here."

"Good," he said. "Activate it as soon as we land, in case anything happens. I'm sure, since you'll be here until May, you'll want to keep up your _hobby_."

"What we're up against doesn't have a nationality," Peter said, "but they all want _your_ stuff."

"Let them come," T'Challa said, "maybe putting _it_ on will help you beat this woman at the game."

"No, then I'd be a loser in spandex."

"Go back to it later," T'Challa suggested, "if you want, I can give you a thumbdrive of my digital library for the rest of the flight."

"Oh, I have a couple things I've been meaning to read on my laptop already, but thank you."

They ended the call and Peter returned to the screen of his red and black, glowing gaming laptop, seeing the _StarCraft_ logo haunt him mockingly as his record sat at 11-42. A small, red arrow popped up over the mail icon in the corner of the screen and he clicked on it, pulling up a small white box with the message, "R u ready?" from .

Peter resisted the urge to start another match with her over his pride and responded. "I'm actually going to take a break, might be back tomorrow."

Almost immediately she answered him. "It's ok to rage quit sometimes ;) ."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Fun playing with you too." He closed his laptop entirely and sat there for a moment in a simmering, angry silence. He was rage quitting, but she didn't need to know that. He heard the elderly woman's soft snoring in the seat across the divider and started to yawn. "Good idea." He leaned back in his chair, feeling the seat warmer and soft massage of first class lull him away from the gamer rage until the captain notified them of their descent four hours later. Half his hair was plastered to the seat, now sticking out in all directions, and his glasses were crooked.

"Local time is 3:35," Liam said, "temperature of negative three, you may now turn off airplane mode but keep your seatbelts on until the sign turns off, and thank you again for choosing British Airways. Enjoy your stay in London."

T'Challa looked out the black window, seeing bits and pieces of downtown London's bright skyline in between the trees and the smaller buildings connected to the airport as the plane slowed to a halt. He pushed down the divider, exchanging another quick glance with the Swiss woman making a phone call before putting his laptop away in his briefcase.

"You are free to stand up," the pilot said, "have a good night."

T'Challa slowly stood up from the soreness of his long legs from sitting for so long. He flexed the muscles in his back and rotated his shoulders and neck; he would have opted for a more private way of traveling had Aunt May not specified she wanted it done a specific way. He respected her wish, but it took a toll on his knees. He looked across the aisle, seeing Peter up already in a black winter coat and gloves from his backpack, also seeming a bit sore in the legs from the stretches he was doing while standing up. "You will check in with the study abroad agent waiting for you at baggage claim," he said, walking around the aisle and patting his young friend on the back. "It is there that we will part ways, but I'll stop by before I leave. Oxford was my home for seven years."

"You were there for grad school, right?" Peter said.

"And undergraduate, for three years," he said, walking out of the plane and feeling the cold rush of English air ruffle his suit, "don't stay in your dorm all day. The campus alone will surprise you."

They reached the long line to customs, with a Heathrow agent passing declaration forms out to everyone in line. "Welcome to Heathrow, anything to declare?"

"Just the boy." T'Challa showed her the card in black and she opened the gate, letting him and Peter through. He glanced back, seeing the Swiss woman pull out a card with a white and blue caduceus on it. She skipped that line as well, following them toward baggage claim.

"What is that card?" Peter asked.

"It lets them know who I am without telling them my identity," he said, "it covers my entourage."

"Wow," Peter said, reaching a circular belt among the other people with similar privileges. His suitcase came down a chute and went straight onto the belt first. Peter looked at the line of agents with written signs, but only one had the coffee and the Oxford sweatshirt. He locked eyes with Peter, the two tall, lean young men exchanging smiles. "Well, I think that's my ride," he said, shaking T'Challa's hand. "Thanks for coming with me. Aunt May hates it when I fly alone, I don't know why, but I guess it's only natural."

T'Challa smiled. "It was no problem. Like I said, I was returning a favor. Keeping her mind at ease is important, no?"

"You have no idea," he groaned with a chuckle, waving him off. "I'll text you when I have my schedule, maybe we can hang out soon?"

T'Challa would be slammed after tomorrow, possibly for the next three days afterward. "We will see, but have a great time!" He watched him leave with the agent and took a deep breath, turning back to the belt in silence.

A phone rang next to him and he looked over, seeing the Swiss woman again answering her phone. She was a bit taller than he expected, about five foot nine with the boots, but still five inches shorter than him. "I'm at baggage claim now," she said, her voice very soft but easygoing. "Next to door 3A you'll see me, Lena." She looked down at the belt as it started filling up with the elite luggage, wrinkling her nose as hers was not included. "Oh yes, it was fine," she said, looking at the back of T'Challa up and down studiously, "mais pas aussi bien que certains passagers."

T'Challa flickered a frown as the belt loop came around twice without his one suitcase.

"Très grand, la peau foncée, beau, et sait comment porter un costume, _et sa voix,_ " she continued, turning around and taking a couple steps away. "Je pense qu'il a dit qu'il avait un doctorat d'Oxford?"

She came back around, locking glances with him briefly and looking away with her large, red suitcase pulled behind her. She gasped and covered her mouth to laugh. T'Challa smirked.

"No, I'm not going to ask," she said, "il semble être le type qui est toujours sérieux, un bourreau de travail."

T'Challa took his tall, thinner black suitcase off the belt and started walking toward door 3A, seeing a long, black, discreet SUV with tinted windows roll into the pickup loop. It was his, but he decided to wait a couple more seconds. The king walked toward the SUV with her not far behind as an orange Ford Mustang stopped in the loop behind it.

"I see you," she said, hanging up and walking toward the Mustang.

"Maybe it's different here," he said, "but it is considered impolite to talk about someone behind their back, especially if that person is right in front of you." She stopped cold and he turned around with a serious, natural smolder. "C'est vrai, non?"

Her face went gaunt, her eyes wide and skin void of any color or life. She suddenly didn't know what to do with her hands. "I didn't think that you would-" She smiled, blushing and laughing at the situation. "I have to go."

He laughed as well, his voice rich and warm, reaching into his suit pocket. "I only joke. I think anyone would be flattered hearing any of that from you- what is your name?"

"Angela," she said, wiping her long bangs out of her face. "What's yours?"

"I'm here on business until Monday, but I'm staying a few more days to meet up with some old colleagues of mine." He pulled out a white business card with two separate phone numbers listed. "The second one is my cell," he said, placing it in her open hand with a suave smile. "Think about it. I might not be as big of a 'bourreau de travail' as you think." He turned around, walking away with a natural confidence and swagger in his step she'd never seen before.

"You never told me your name," Angela said, looking down at the card and back up at the man on the left side of the SUV.

He flashed his smooth smile again. "À bientôt, Angela," he said, climbing into the passenger seat. The driver was another tall and buff Wakandan man with a bald, shiny head and brown eyes.

"You are here for the women, your highness?" the driver teased.

T'Challa smirked. "What? I figured we could have dinner, walk around London, go our separate ways. I'm not going to be here for long."

The driver rolled his eyes with a disbelieving smile. "You never change."

"M'Yemu," T'Challa said, greeting his fellow countryman warmly. "It's been far too long, old friend."

"You came without your Dora Milaje," M'Yemu said curiously with a fatter, more prominent accent than T'Challa's.

"N'Baza and B'Tumba are traveling right now," he said, "and as you remember, with the lions' den, they are no fighters."

M'Yemu laughed heartily. "Yes, those cubs were _terrifying,_ " he said, "but you do not need to ball up your fists in Wakanda before lending every hand."

"They are great men, indeed," T'Challa said. "I hope all is well with you and your family."

"For me, my friend, yes," M'Yemu said, returning the hearty handshake. "But I'm afraid as of this morning, all may not be well for Wakanda."

T'Challa's smile faded into cold concern. He'd just finished saving the world, but he wasn't going to let his people fall through the cracks. "Has my absence been taken advantage of?"

"The Loki incident with the rest of the Avengers took up all your time in New York recently, I understand, but," M'Yemu said, taking a deep breath. "Akande Ogundimu has escaped prison, and he got help."

"Do you know who let him out?" T'Challa asked. "No, I suppose, Akande would not give that kind of connection away freely."

"And he has the gauntlet."

T'Challa looked over again at his friend and driver, letting his hands curl into bitter fists up on the shining dashboard. "Doomfist..." he hissed as they reached the center of London. Vibrant and colorful under the cloudy night sky with a breathtaking combination of modern skyscrapers and historic sites such as the Tower of London and Westminster Abbey that would make finding Akande a mess. "You will tell me everything you know."

* * *

 **AND THAT'S CHAPTER ONE YOUR THOUGHTS/PREDICTIONS PLS**

 **OVERWATCH HEROES/BADDIES MENTIONED THIS CHAPTER: MERCY, D. VA, TRACER, DOOMFIST**

 **AVENGERS MENTIONED: BLACK PANTHER, SPIDER MAN, HULK, IRON MAN**

 **FRENCH:** Pouvez-vous me comprendre maintenant? = Do you understand me now?

mais pas aussi bien que certains passagers = but certain passengers were also _foine_

Très grand, la peau foncée, beau, et sait comment porter un costume, _et sa voix_ = very tall, dark, handsome, knows how to wear a suit, _dat voice thoooooo gurrrrrllllll_

Je pense qu'il a dit qu'il avait un doctorat d'Oxford? = I think he said he got his PhD at Oxford?

il semble être le type qui est toujours sérieux, un bourreau de travail. = he seems like the type of guy who is always serious, a workaholic

C'est vrai, non? = It's true, no?

A bientot (no accents yeah I know shut up) = see you soon

A couple more things you probably want to know about this **_FANFICTION_** :

-All of Overwatch will get a buff to keep up with the Avengers bc let's be real here, T'Challa would beat all of Talon's ass then go home in a 70 minute direct to DVD movie called "T'Challa's Crazy Monday" with like a two percent on Rotten Tomatoes

-I would watch the hell out of "T'Challa's Crazy Monday"

-Tracer is bi

-I'm working on school + other projects atm but some of the projects are ending so regular updates will happen later down the line, just follow/fav and be patient pls :)

-No harem

- ** _NO HAREM._**

-see above

-More than just the two ships listed will be in the story, if you want to know just send me a PM or suggest an Avengers X OW pair you think would be aesthetic in a PM/review.

 **THANKS FOR READING! PLS REVIEW! :DDDDDD**


	2. Chapter 2

Peter sat in the back of the bumpy shuttle speeding along the highway among five other tired, international students and the chipper study abroad agent, watching T'Challa flirt with a blonde bombshell as he left the pickup loop. He wished he would be a third as cool as the king was, at some point. Maybe some of it came with the title? "Alright, alright," the agent said, using his phone's flashlight to read a list of names from a clipboard. "Sorry to keep you awake, but I have to make sure you're all here." His thick, Scottish accent was enough to rouse most of the group. "Oxford's not very close to London, wouldn't want anyone taking that hour-long ride without a charming boy from Edinburgh to show them the way," he chuckled, hearing a disappointing silence. He cleared his throat. "Priyabarta?"

"Here," an Indian man said, falling asleep again.

"Xiao?"

"Hello," he received in response.

"Akol?"

"Sleeping," Akol said, garnering a weak laugh among the group.

"Rubia?"

"Yo."

"Hana?"

He received no response this time.

"Hana Song?"

Peter felt a head slowly fall onto his shoulder. He turned to it, shaking the shoulder of the slim South Korean woman with long, wavy brown hair and fair skin awake. "Oh!" she exclaimed, sitting straight up in her middle seat and glancing over at Peter who avoided eye contact as well. "Sorry!"

"No worries," the agent said, thinking she was talking to him. "Peter?"

"Here," Peter said, sounding the least tired out of all of them.

The agent chuckled. "You're the only guy here who isn't treating this dropoff like the drunk ferry."

"I could only get a later flight in the afternoon," Peter said, "I guess with the time difference, four in the morning isn't four in the morning."

"I mean, it still is," Hana said with a yawn, opening her bright, intelligent brown eyes, "it's just that most of us had two flights- where are you from?"

"Queens, New York," Peter said, smiling with pride of his home. "You?"

"Seoul," she said, "what other small talk is there- what's your major? I'm mech-E."

"Bio-E," he said, hearing her yawn. "Sorry, do I bore you?" he said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, you do," Hana said nonchalantly, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "See you in class I guess-" She jutted forward, throwing her arms out to stop her head from hitting the seat in front of her. " _Ige Mwoya!_ " she exclaimed.

"Peter, this is your stop," the guide said, stopping in front of a brown apartment building with a slanted roof and revolving door. Every apartment had its own balcony, unlike his back home. " The bus station is ten minutes away, it should take you about fifty minutes to get from your host family's flat to campus."

Peter shuffled over Hana and another student, hopping out of the bus with the student guide who helped pull his bags from the back. "Thanks, I'm really excited to get started."

"That's the spirit," the guide said, punching his arm. "Commencement and the campus tour will begin at eleven in the Thorn building."

"I'll be there," Peter said, closing the back and shaking the guide's hand as he returned to the shuttle.

"Cheers," the guide said, closing the shuttle and leaving Peter alone in front of the revolving door.

Peter yawned and pulled out his phone as he approached the thick glass door, although revolving it was stuck in place with a keypad on the wall next to it. He scrolled through text messages, stopping on the name "Lena" and entering the four number code in the keypad. It beeped green and revolving door started turning again. "Interesting," he said, walking into the lobby. It was pretty decent, with a welcome and security desk along one wall, a couple decorative plants and trees in the corner, a coffee machine and station in between the two elevators toward the back, and finally a few portraits on the wall of monarchs and other nobles. He walked into one of the elevators, taking it up to the sixth floor. He stepped into the center of a hall, seeing four closed doors spaced out along the wall, two doors on either side. He checked his phone again, walking up to the door labeled "604" and giving it a knock.

No answer. He checked his phone again, making sure he was at the right place.

"Maybe she's sleeping," he said, wincing as he hit the call button. The phone rang a couple times before anyone picked up.

"Hello?" a woman's English accent said over the phone. "Peter?"

"Hi, Miss Oxton?" Peter said, hearing the sound of a bus honking in the background. "Sorry if I woke you, but I'm here."

There was an awkward silence for a moment. "Bollocks," he heard her say under her breath, "I'll be there soon!" she assured him cheerily. "I'm about to turn the corner into the lot, so just sit tight, cheers!"

She hung up on him, leaving him alone once again. He walked over to the window, seeing the clouds over a castle that looked tiny from his distance. "Help!" an old man cried out from below.

"Help, someone!" Peter curiously opened the window and looked over the side, seeing three, lanky men in black hoods pushing around an older gentleman in a suit by the trashcans next to the parking lot.

"Just give it, bruv," one of the muggers said, "or I'll have to gut you like a fish, don't make me do that to you, geezer."

Peter sighed, setting his bags down and crouching on the windowsill. He put up his hood and calmly jumped, landing six stories later on the asphalt without a sound. He quietly crept behind the three muggers, pinching the hood of the closest man and whipping him with amazing strength into the trash cans. "Hey guys, sorry I'm late- I can still fit you into my four o'clock 'beat up a bunch of scrubs' timeslot, how's your schedule looking?"

"Oi! Who the fuck are you, mate?" one mugger said, brandishing a knife. "Let us go about our business and you won't stain that white shirt you're wearing."

Peter continued slowly walking forward, opening his hands. "You'd think that if I wanted you to know who I am, I wouldn't be wearing the hood."

"Don't get cheeky with me, bruv," the other mugger said, pulling out a switchblade. "I'll fuck you up, I'm from Liverpool!"

"Oh really?" Peter said, dodging a slash and punching him in the chest. The switchblade dropped and the man joined his friend, rattling the cans like steel drums. "I'm from New York," he said, catching a knife thrust from the last thug and twisting his arm to throw him over his shoulder. "Next time, just stay in, it's too early to be roaming around," he said, helping the well-dressed old man with a shoe print on his chest, "order a pizza, maybe watch some Netflix-" He flinched with the bright headlights that cast him in the lights head on.

"Hey! Leave Cromwell alone, you pleb!" Lena's voice shouted from the car. The front door opened and closed, giving Peter just enough time to duck a punch.

"Wait! Miss Oxton!" Peter said, backpedaling before another strike from the light flew his way. "It's me, Peter!"

The fists stopped flying and Lena stepped forward. She was a short, spunky British woman with short, brown hair that spiked unintentionally on the top of her head and ended in one long bang that swept to one side next to her eye. Her bright, green eyes stared at him quizzically and she folded her arms. "You got down here pretty fast for someone who sounded like they were inside the building."

"I was in the lobby after I hung up, I figured it would look weird if you came back and some stranger was sitting by your door," Peter said, "I heard him calling out for help."

She looked at the three young men sprawled out on the ground unconscious. "Well you certainly responded just in time," she said. She smiled warmly at him, extending her hand. "And call me Lena." Peter met it in a firm handshake. "Do you usually crush the hands of the people you meet?"

"I see the following hospital visit as a chance to bond," he said, following her back inside after she parked her car. They went up the elevator, allowing him to see more of her in the light. She was light-skinned with faint freckles on her cheekbones and across the bridge of her nose, thin eyebrows, pouty lips, and an athletic figure in blue jeans, brown snow boots, and a brown leather and sheepskin air force jacket with a thick, white collar of short and curly wool.

The elevator opened and Peter grabbed his stuff again, closing the window while Lena put her keys in the door. "Sorry for not being here," she said, opening the door, "I was picking up a friend from the airport and she spent ages flirting with this guy- albeit cute it was very inconsiderate." She yawned. "How long was the flight?"

"About six, seven hours," Peter said with a yawn, "see, you're making me do it."

"Well good," Lena said with a chuckle, letting him into her roomy but cluttered apartment. "You're my first host child, the least I can do is make sure you're sleeping every night." They stepped right into the living room with a hardwood floor fit with a flat screen up on the wall and a curling brown leather sofa by the window and balcony. On the other side of the wall was the kitchen, it was cozy, not too small but smaller than average, with boxes of cereal left out on the counter. A small, round table sat by the kitchen window with a white tablecloth and three wooden chairs with cushions on them, but what caught Peter's eye in the room was the presence of multiple mysterious artifacts hung up on the wall.

"You're an archaeologist?" Peter asked, following her past the living room and into a short hallway.

"I'm a semester away from getting my PhD," she said, "until then, I'm a 'compensated adventurer.'"

"Got it," Peter laughed, walking past the sizable bathroom with white tiles and a square tub to the two bedrooms across from each other.

She led him into a cluttered room with a loft bed with a sleek metal desk under it with a desktop computer with "StarkTech" on the side of it. There was a window at the footboard and a small closet on the other side, but it would be more than enough room for what he needed. "This is your room, sorry for the mess," she chuckled, picking up a bright pink tee shirt and tossing it out, "ex and I had a spat before she up and left- I won that argument. Just put any of her stuff in the way in the closet and don't worry, sheets are clean."

"It's no problem, thank you for the room," Peter said, "I hope you and her come to an understanding."

"Me too," she said with a slight scowl, "I hope you're okay with the loft, loo's down the hall, I left some Hobnobs for you if you wanted a snack after the flight."

"Oh, I think I'm going to go right to bed," Peter said, putting his bag and suitcase down. "I have an early day tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow," Lena said.

"Well to me it feels like yesterday," Peter said.

"Time zones, clever," Lena chuckled, "well, don't forget to go to the bank before you leave tomorrow, you'll want to exchange your dollars to quid."

"Quid?"

Lena rolled her eyes. "Sorry, you _American_ , it's pound sterling."

Peter laughed. "I've been here for two hours, I'll pick it up."

Lena smirked, giving him the thumb up. "Stick with me, you'll be a certified bloke in no time." Her watch glowed yellow and grey, her demeanor doing a 180 to collected and serious as she read the device. She smiled at him once more. "I have to run, but I'll be back soon." She darted out of the room, slamming the front door shut and lock. "Don't light anything on fire, yeah?"

"I'll only burn my own things," Peter assured her, watching her vanish again and hearing the front door slam shut. He looked at the digital clock on the desk, reading four o'clock AM on the dot. It was a strange time to run out on an errand. He hoped everything would be alright. His content, tired smile was slapped away with the realization that shook him awake. "How did she get back inside?"

* * *

T'Challa looked at his beads, tapping one and displaying a holographic clock reading "11:02 AM." He stepped out of the black SUV, crunching some of the snow on the asphalt with a white dress shoe. His entire outfit was shining white, save a bright red pocket handkerchief. He looked up at the tall research facility, the walls made out of tinted glass and steel rods in between each pane. He waited at the front doors situated under an overhang held up by white steel pillars. There were no door handles, simply a keycard access port. "Tony," he said into his beads, pulling up his hologram, "I'm here."

Tony checked his watch. "You're late."

T'Challa smirked. "You would have forgotten I was here."

"That's besides the point," Tony said, turning away from the king. "One sec."

Two red eyes opened just behind the glass and a seven foot tall sentry made of glimmering gray and black steel opened the doors. "Your Highness," an older, English gentleman's voice said kindly.

"Good morning, Jarvis," T'Challa said, walking into a calm, open lobby with no welcome desk, only other robots like Jarvis floating around on rockets to the sound of Frank Sinatra softly singing "Fly Me to the Moon" over the speakers. They walked to the back wall, instead of elevators there were soft mesh pads that employees in suits and lab coats backed into and disappeared, completely enveloped by the mesh.

"Master Tony has requested I bring you to him myself," Jarvis said. His chestplate, legs, and helmet all split in half, electronics unfolding and flattening to make room.

T'Challa chuckled. "He thinks he can show off," he said, stepping into Jarvis and wearing him like a snug suit of armor, "to me?" A blue camera feed appeared in front of his face and he stepped forward, staring straight up into level upon level of research and business. He pressed down with his feet and felt the burst of rocket fuel propel him upward. He kept climbing, gathering the attention of a few visiting businessmen walking down a corridor toward their next meeting. He reached the top floor, hopping over the railing and landing in front of a sliding steel door.

"You know him," Jarvis said exhaustedly, "personally, I believe he's still getting over what happened in New York a year and a half ago. The newfound publicity has him acting like a 16 year old with his first car."

"I love it when my friends talk behind my back," Tony's voice said inside the suit.

"You know we only jest," T'Challa said warmly, feeling the suit latch from him and fold off, allowing him to easily step out of the boots.

"I don't, sir," Jarvis said, reforming his humanoid shape and taking off. The sliding door opened, revealing a wide, open floor in the center of the room where two muscle bound men wearing white fired hundreds of gatling rounds at a wide, thin, and flat slab of a greyish blue metal that did not dent in the slightest. One of them was a tall, fair skinned man with very short, straight blonde hair, brown eyes, and a soldier's physique. The man next to him was short and fair-skinned, hairy with spiky black hair that faded into a mullet. He had sharp, brown eyes and a thick jawline stuck in a grimace that, combined with his muscular build, he was one man one did not talk to. The taller man stopped firing for a moment, pulling off multiple health and force monitoring systems to greet the guest.

"Well I'll be damned, some of us thought you'd never come out of Wakanda," he said with a grin, heartily shaking the king's hand.

"Good to see you too, Clint," T'Challa said.

"I'm glad you did come out, eventually," the other trial tester said, his stern face showing a respect for the king that was returned with a similar gaze. "Never got to thank you for defending the mansion during-" He turned his glance to the tall, curvy and slim Indian woman in a lab coat, walking toward them in a huff. "-you know."

"Of course, Logan," he said, "but feel no need. I was just doing my duty."

"Hello, can I help you?" she said with an impatient cordialness and a light accent, standing in his bubble and looking up at the royal. She had long, straight black hair tied up in a bun, bright hazel eyes, pronounced cheekbones, and the attitude and demeanor of a CEO just in her stance. "This is a closed laboratory, and we do not allow tours to anyone unless we plan on presenting our projects to a very limited list of people."

"I was invited here by Tony," he said kindly, "I'm Luke Charles."

She looked him up and down. "You act like that explains why I should let you in."

"That vibranium-infused hard-light concave reflector Clint and Logan 2000 dollars in ammunition on was created by three people," he said.

"Yes, me, Tony Stark, and a Wakandan physicist."

T'Challa smiled. "Then if you would allow me, Miss Satya Vaswani," he said, "I would like to see the progress of our projects."

Satya tried to hide her blush with a laugh. "I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you! Come with me."

"The last time we spoke was over the phone, no worries," he said, feeling his beads vibrate. "Tony?"

His hologram showed up, this time his glasses were a bit crooked. "Sorry, I was just unconscious, please tell me Jarvis let you in?"

"That he did."

"Great, great, come upstairs."'

"I'm excited to see what you've done."

"It's cooler in person, just come up."

Tony hung up, allowing the king to feast his eyes upon the scientific juggernaut Stark Industries presented here. "You've seen, and built, what I discovered five minutes ago, the latest innovation in safety soon to be in the hands of every city developer everywhere, but this is only on the first floor."

"We have already received that much interest?" T'Challa said, pleasantly surprised.

"As the CEO of Vishkar Corporation, I have to thank the Avengers for that," she said, "could you imagine a room, a building, of which the likes of an angry frost giant from outer space could not destroy? It would be like living in a room full of Avengers, and no one would know."

"I guess we have our job cut out for us," he chuckled.

"The first level is our ballistic testing site," she said, taking him up a set of stairs to set of laboratory doors. "Here, we test our alloy's radioactive properties and its impact on the environment, with Doctor Banner and Doctor Zhou agreeing to study it." They walked into another lab room, except each station was fit with a six foot tall, cylindrical metal chamber. A tall, averagely lean man with neat, brown hair, tan skin, and brown hair stood hunched over a glowing green piece of the alloy seen downstairs next to a short, curvy Chinese woman with brown eyes and medium-length brown hair in a bun held by a red hair pin. She pushed her thick rimmed glasses up to her face, continuing her diligent work with the metal while both of them were under layers of clear anti-radiation suits, while Doctor Banner gave a knowing smile to T'Challa.

T'Challa's expression hardened. He and Banner held their mutual stare for a moment, with Banner's eyes flickering green. The king nodded and followed her up another flight, this time the smell of burnt metal greeting them as soon as they approached a set of heavy, gray double doors. "This is lead… do we need to wear any protective gear?"

"Actually, anything radioactive is occuring downstairs, and every staircase has a built in radiation shield. The doors are for ballistics."

Satya swiped her keycard and the doors opened with a wide rush of cold air into a engineer's dreamland workshop that was forty feet high on its own.

"Tony, Luke is here!" Satya called up. T'Challa looked toward the ceiling, seeing a well-dressed man of average height scaling the side of the workshop wall in steel boots and gloves that radiated a bright light from the palms and heels. "How are the hard-light grafters working?"

Tony ran onto the ceiling and aimed his palms down, shooting soft beams of light that acted as a cushion as he fell from the air. He landed on his feet and took off the gloves, smiling at his friends and associate. "Stand back," he said with a cool, cocky voice, whipping around and projecting a light shield around them. Turrets sprouted from the white walls and let out a torrent of automatic fire, none of which dented the shield. "Meet _Disaster-Blaster_ ," Tony said.

"We're not calling it that," Satya said with a chuckle of disbelief.

"Vishkar's alternating concave-convex photon layering combined with Wakanda's _standard_ vibranium anti-collapse blocking in Stark Industry's propulsion cannons have created the ultimate insurance against disasters, natural and supernatural, worldwide- cover your ears."

T'Challa and Satya did so quickly, as an RPG that flew through the wall did nothing against the shield except make a large boom. Tony let the shield drop and turned around, opening his arms.

"Impressive, right? The three of us should do this more often."

"Well, it's not every day a self-proclaimed god and his army come down from the sky and the Hulk treats New York like a sandbox," Satya said, "I just wish we could have thought about it a year before rather than a year after it happened."

"And tomorrow marks the day," Tony said, his cocky grin turning into one more of hope, "so let's put all our energy into perfecting what we do here, at this rate we can get these into every disaster response team worldwide in a matter of weeks. Sooner or later, everyone will be an Iron Man in their own right."

"So then I can be Iron Woman?" she said with a smirk.

T'Challa chuckled. "That sounds like a conversation for a later time."

"Agreed, and the radiation testing was a nice touch," Satya said, "but I didn't expect even you two to have contact with Doctor Banner on such a short notice, he hasn't been seen for months."

Tony folded his arms, tapping his sides. "Neither has Doctor Zhou."

By the look in her eyes, T'Challa could sense there was more than meets the eye for her, and presumably the scientist working with Doctor Banner. "You said you had a couple more projects you wanted to test out."

"Well, yes," she said, eyeing Tony one more time before turning to T'Challa, "but it seems like Tony spoiled them already."

"That's not true," Tony said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a long pen. "Remember this?"

T'Challa laughed, taking it into his hand. "The _Turf-Pen_! I thought you said you weren't going forward with this- you two reconsidered?"

"After our last draft," Satya said, "we took your suggestion of putting the vibranium salts in hard-light packets. It did not change the growth of plants in drought-affected communities after all."

"No one can farm vibranium after that," Tony said, "why don't we go out back, try it out?"

"I'll be in the courtyard," Satya said.

"Don't you need a coat?" T'Challa asked.

She knocked on her arm, watching the hard-light ripple under her knuckles.

"Now you're just showing off," Tony said, making her laugh as she walked away. The men stopped chuckling and looked at each other with the same grave expression.

"She's onto you," T'Challa whispered.

"Tell me about it," Tony said quietly, walking over to a rack with other prototypes of the hard-light rocket boots. "Ever since I came out as Iron Man she's thought everyone in my friend circle is some kind of superhero."

T'Challa thought about that for a moment. "Aren't they?"

"What are we hush-hush about, just tell me."

"Bruce is here," T'Challa said under his breath, walking toward the exit. "Then Natasha is too."

"Keep your voice down, she's probably waiting around the corner," he whispered, "everyone's here."

T'Challa's eyes widened. "Everyone?"

"Meet me right after your press conference, I sent the location to you and the kid."

"What is going on? If it's about Akande, there's no reason to drag the team into this."

"Are you two coming?" Satya asked from just outside the doors.

"I'll tell you there," Tony said, walking toward the door, "but it's a decision I believe everyone needs to vote upon."

"Tony," T'Challa said out loud, stopping Tony just as his door was on the handle. "What are you doing?"

Tony looked back. "I promised I'd never let Earth feel as helpless as it was that day," he said, "and I need you to help me. It's why you, all of us, are here."

* * *

 **WHAT IS TONY HIDING FROM T'CHALLA? WAS PETER'S MIND PLAYING TRICKS ON HIM? PAIRING SUGGESTIONS/HOPES? QUESTIONS? COMMENTS? REVIEW/PM!**

 **NEW AVENGERS THAT APPEARED: HULK, WOLVERINE, HAWKEYE**

 **NEW OVERWATCH MEMBERS THAT APPEARED: TRACER, SYMMETRA, MEI**


	3. Chapter 3

Unlike yesterday, he had an entourage stepping out of the line of SUVs with him. T'Challa wore the white suit he had on the day before, with a striking gold tie and pocket handkerchief. The cameras were immediately on him, loaded, personal questions hurled at him in an overwhelming, indistinct noise, and a squad of tall, burly men in suits pushing journalists away. "King T'Challa! King T'Challa! How are you coping with your father's death?" one journalist shouted.

"Do you think the relationship between Wakanda and the UK will recover after Kilmonger's terrorist attacks and your absence during them?" another harpy screeched.

"With Doomfist out of jail again, do you think it is a matter of time until he stages another coup and do you expect our help after your prisoner attacked our country?" a shrill voice cried.

"Is it true that you personally sold Vibranium to your allies to defeat political opponents abroad?"

"Is it true you know the secret identities of the other Avengers?"

T'Challa dismissively pushed aside the microphones shoved in his face as he walked under one of the many pristinely kept Westminster Abbey arches and into a tall building connected to the inside of the historic site. He walked up multiple flights of stairs to a set of grand oak double doors with golden handles and opened them, stepping into a cool conference room where the press and politicians of parliament sat in wait for him in rows of chairs. There was only one window with a clear view down the street to the other side of Westminster and to the top of Big Ben. A shared podium waited for him in the front, along with a stern, pale woman with short, gray hair, brown eyes and wearing a navy blue suit. She extended her hand first. "Your Highness," she said politely but her expression not faltering.

"Prime Minister," he said, returning a hardy handshake.

They turned toward the crowd, each standing in front of their respective flags. The Wakandan flag popped out, being a red stripe in between two green ones, a black circle in the center and a red panther in the circle with glowing yellow eyes, shrouding T'Challa in an intimidating presence he carried with his regality. Out in the crowd of the press sat Angela with a group of EMTs and doctors waiting, he noticed, staring up at him with slight aggravation on her face from not telling her such a vital piece of information about who he was. They locked eyes for a brief moment before T'Challa cleared his throat. "Good afternoon, everyone," he said, his voice holding such authority that within an instant the chatter ceased. "First of all, I would like to say how elated I am to be here with Prime Minister May, my father respected and admired her in his later years and I will do the same. Recently, as you may know and have strong feelings about, people carrying the banner of my people brought harm to you while I was not there, and I denounce them again in front of you- Wakanda's best interests are for the inclusion and harmony of all mankind everywhere, and through this time of adversity, we must strengthen our ties, not cut them. Under strong leadership from the prime minister, the UK has buckled down on terrorism domestically and abroad, and we see the world in the same way. We will continue to push back Russian and North Korean aggression, we will continue to fight cyber terrorism, and we will end the efforts of any remaining Null Sector militants who wish to take up arms with men inside our countries to prevent any attack like the one aforementioned, ever again. In a time of great international and societal strain, despite recent, turbulent, events from Earth or space, we will stand strong with you." He nodded toward the Prime Minister. "Theresa."

"Thank you," she said, "I'm glad I was able to see you rise to such a stage within the web of world power and I know we will stay good allies- we share the same values of freedom, liberty, and tolerance, and especially intelligence and technology. Our partnerships are vital in the fight against Daesh in Iraq and Syria, and degrading their presence here as well to keep the streets of Britain safe. Its finances are being hit, its resources drained, its leaders killed, its soldiers deserting, and thanks to Wakanda's efforts, their Libyan sects have been depleted to the point of nullification. However, we must be aware that they will try to find a safe haven wherever they have not gone before, therefore it is the effort of the global power community working together to keep them from stepping over the line, which England is at risk of, every day. His father, both the king and the Black Panther, fought alongside us in the Omnic Crisis in calming King's Row in order to cultivate the last bastion of hope on either side of the war, Wakanda was there for us then and his son carries the spitting image, all the same values with a new virility, but I digress. Onto today's matters, mainly the import of vibranium, we have time to discuss it all and have time for questions at the end."

She cleared her throat, hearing some coughing in the back of the room. T'Challa recognized it as a choking cough, and soon, the entire back row was stricken with the same attack. Immediately, Angela stood up with several other elite medical professionals and turned around. "Everyone, get down!" Angela shouted. The blood of everyone in the room went cold as a thick, gray smoke filled up the room from the back. The glass in the windows shattered and the sounds of many heavy footsteps put the room into a hacking frenzy. Two gunshots rang out clearly from the center of the room, stunning some into silence and others into a wild, screaming panic.

T'Challa and the prime minister were on their stomachs on the ground, both keeping their cool enough for Theresa to call an ambulance and the police through frightened whispers. "Do not worry," T'Challa assured her.

"Stay down," a deep, raspy man hissed through the smoke, "you may not see me, but I can see you. Anyone who wants to be a hero will die like one."

The room was struck by silence.

"Good, this won't take very long," he said. The smoke cleared quickly, as if it was retracting from the mask of the tall, lean man wearing a long, black, oilskin duster with a cloak and gray, shining steel mask in the design of a distorted skull with wide, slanted slits for eyes. He was armed to the teeth and wore heavy, black metal boots, with two single-barreled, sawed off shotguns with glowing red sights. Underneath wraps and slings holding ammo and burning red canisters that seemed like some type of grenade was a sleek, black leather combat suit. Whoever this man was, it was obvious he was no rookie to this.

"Why are you doing this?" Theresa asked, keeping her face hard and unmoving for the sake of everyone else in the room. "Whatever it is you want, I assure you that nothing you do here today will give it to you."

"I am not here for you to give," he said, stepping past her and lifting the king up to his knees in surprising strength. A cold barrel end pushed into T'Challa's head. "I am here to take."

T'Challa's expression was cold and uncaring, saying nothing.

"You and your friends have caused quite the stir among my colleagues this past year," he said, "and frankly, everyone's impressed, by you especially, sadly, you'd be a hindrance to our goals- my boss apologizes in advance, and he promises to send his regards to your mother."

T'Challa stared into the black pits he had for eyes. "You are only going to make this more humiliating."

The assassin laughed, cocking his gun. "Tell me, how long did you know you were a dead man walking, T'Challa?"

"Reaper!" Angela called out, pulling his finger off the trigger. "Gabriel, stop it! It's me you want, you will only dig a deeper hole for yourself if you end that man's life!"

Reaper kept his stare on the king. "I'm already dead, Mercy, yes, my job is to haunt you for the rest of your days, but I too have orders." He cocked his second gun pointing it back at the doctor in scrubs and a white lab coat. "Any last words?" he asked, drawing the second gun and aiming it at the king's heart.

"Yes, actually," T'Challa said, his voice low and dangerous. "The Black Panther has been a protector of Wakanda for generations," he said, "and now, it is time to show the outside world who we are."

Reaper squeezed both triggers, granting not the slightest response to the king except for two booming gunshots. Angela and the Prime Minister clutched their chests in fear, however the sound of the blast crunching wood instead of bone turned fear into disbelief. Reaper looked down, seeing the king leaned out of the way of his barrel just before the blast.

"It's just always a pity," T'Challa said rising like a snake, trapping both arms and twisting the guns from his hands with such speed not even a bullet could keep up. Reaper looked down at his guns sprawled behind the king and back at his target again with his arms open and his stance wide. "Because someone must take the fall to do so."

The palms of Reaper's hands glowed bright red and the shotguns flew to his hands. "You're not leaving here alive!"

T'Challa moved with impeccable speed for his size, planting a sidekick into his chest so hard he flew out of the room. "You wanted Wakanda, yes?" he shouted, everything he wore turning black and shining, with silver lines outlining his muscles and drawing diamond motifs on his chest. Around the neck were multiple pointed crafts of silver around the neck like a built-in royal necklace, and his black gloves popped out claws for each finger. His shoes were jet black as well, his footsteps silent like a stalking predator. Finally, a black helmet in the shape of a mouthless panther with shining, silver eyes phased onto his face from the thin force field he used to conceal his costume. "Then you will get Wakanda!" The bystanders flattened themselves to the walls while Angela ran alongside the king.

"First you're the king of Wakanda, then you're Black Panther," Angela said with a slight annoyance, stopping just in front of the elevators and diving behind a steel trash can for cover.

"And you know this man," he replied.

"Difference is that I was upfront about it!" Angela shouted, kicking the trash can forward and lunging.

T'Challa darted behind the trash can, kicking it harder and shielding her from the shotgun blasts. "And yet I still do not know who you are," he said, leaping forward and kicking Reaper in the face. Reaper stumbled back through the wide lobby of the conference room into the elevator doors and took a strong right hook to the face. The king winced in pain at a point-blank shotgun blast to the chest. T'Challa rolled back and rolled to the side and dodged a second blast.

"I will tell you about it at dinner," she said, seeing the shotgun spread drop from his stomach. "You've been hit!"

T'Challa pounded his chest. "So tonight is still on?"

"Die, die, _die!_ " Reaper shouted, charging forward and firing shot after shot. T'Challa kept his distance, bouncing off the wall and coming down hard with a spinning drop kick. His foot fell straight through Reaper as his form dissipated into a mass of black smoke.

T'Challa heard the click from behind him and he ducked, throwing an elbow back through another pillar of smoke. The smoke rose, holding onto the chandelier and depositing into Reaper again. "I am not a doctor," he said, dodging shotgun blasts as if he could see where they were coming from before Reaper even aimed, "but isn't that bad for your lungs?"

"I'm dead," Reaper said, turning into smoke and appearing at T'Challa's side. "And soon you will be too."

"Well, you said the first part correctly," he said, yanking the assassin toward him and planting a knee strike. He went in for another but kicked through mist, turning around to the barrel of a shotgun in his chest. Another shot rang out and the king stumbled back, naturally feeling a sharp pain shock his ribcage and sternum.

"I never half-ass my answers," Reaper said, turning into the black smoke again in T'Challa's face. "It's just only a matter of time before your armor fails and I turn you into a rug."

T'Challa ducked just before a bullet took his head off. He threw Reaper over his shoulder, grasping only smoke by the time he hit the ground. He heard quick and light footsteps around the room. "Angela, please do not interfere! I'm making him work for his money!"

However, Angela was long gone from the room, but he could hear her voice shouting over the hysteria in the room as she saved lives. He ran toward the assassin slowly backing toward the staircase and jumped as shotgun blasts bore holes just in front of his feet. He ran on the wall and leaped forward, landing a devastating jump kick in Reaper's face and knocking him down a flight. T'Challa leaped again after the tumbling man, nimbly racing down the railing and cutting across his face with shining claws. Reaper faded into smoke and T'Challa whipped around, taking the butt of one shotgun to the face and a shot that would have split his leg in two had he not kicked Reaper into the staircase. A roaring pain went through T'Challa's knee anyway as the impact terribly bruised it.

"You are a man who chooses to run when the opportunity is presented to fight with honor," T'Challa said, walking toward the gunman clicking desperately, "the worst kind of man."

Reaper pushed himself to his feet. "And what good is being a good man if we all end up in the same place?" he said, hopping over the railing and darting down the stairs.

Black Panther fell over the side, landing behind Reaper like a shadow and kicking him in the back. Shotgun shells spread all about the ground, with Reaper following them on his face in the wide foyer with the sound of a helicopter and heavy gunfire outside. "It seems your getaway didn't live up to its name either, Reaper, that is what you go by, yes?"

Reaper scoffed. "It's a title," he said, whipping around with both shotguns cocked and ready, this time smoke surrounding the barrels before firing, "but I prefer the last words opponents like you would hear is 'Death Blossom.'"

A bullet flew past his head immediately and another punched his chest hard, flattening him into the wall. Reaper turned into a mist but still held the guns, firing round after round far faster than a shotgun should. Black Panther darted around the room trying to stay calm with every near miss, but it was every bare bruising hit that edged him toward fighting for survival rather than justice. "What's the pattern here…" The mist swirled around him, hitting at every corner faster than T'Challa could dodge. He heard a click right by his head and ducked, slashing through the mist with a kick. A second click at his shoulder forced him to lean back as the flash passed over his chest and a third click was aimed just above it. He rolled to the side and rose with an uppercut, hearing a fourth click and spinning out of a leg shot. He heard the click aimed at his head again and sidestepped instead, darting forward and yanking the gun over his shoulder. "Got you!"

Reaper rolled to his feet and turned around but he wasn't nearly fast enough, taking a front kick that flattened him to the doors. He aimed his other shotgun at the charging hero, seeing a sleek, snarling black panther instead of a king before a fist cruised into his ribcage. He roared in pain and T'Challa could feel it reverberate through his fist as he crushed six ribs in one punch that broke down the doors. Reaper slid down the row of anxious reporters and looked up, weakly firing one more shot before clutching the right side of his chest, feeling bones shattered like glass.

The police had their weapons aimed at T'Challa as he stepped outside, picking Reaper off the ground with ease. "I might offer you mercy if you tell me who sent you," he hissed.

"He's very interested in you." Reaper's form slowly faded into smoke once again, dropping the other shotgun. "You will meet him soon enough, Black Panther," he warned him, dissipating into nothingness.

T'Challa looked at his hands, seeing the smoke thinning out. "Damn it," he cursed, feeling that this wasn't the last time he would have to fight Reaper. He also had a feeling he knew who sent him. He looked up at the other source of chaos, seeing a helicopter shakily escape from an angelic woman burning white and carrying a long staff in the shape of a winged caduceus. "Well," he said, seeing the staff form a green shield around her to absorb gatling rounds while she fired back with a blue plasma ray. "This will make for some interesting dinner chat." He whipped around and leaped onto the wall of the building, his fingers and heels glowing blue and allowing him to scale the side of the building at superhuman speeds. He hopped back into the window Reaper blew out, seeing Theresa bravely console and calm the journalists shakily snapping photos of the mayhem. He backed up, seeing stray rounds zip through the floor. "So, they call you Mercy?" he shouted, taking a great leap off the side of the building in a lunge past Angela.

She wore a white and gold angelic outfit similar to a Valkyrie, a white torso plate with shoulder pads and arm guards with undersides fading from a bright gold to a warm brown and black from her shoulder to her hand, brown spandex pants with black knee and leg armor that melded into black boots with brown bottoms, and white waist guards on her sides that protected her thighs and her pelvis and behind in longer pads that cascaded from gold to brown. Long, thin chinks were present in every piece of armor allowing her to move freely, but the chinks weren't nearly big enough. To further sell the valkyrie, her black neck guard was fastened to a golden halo set above her ears and jutting forward and upward over her head, and her wide, layered wings glowed gold. She watched T'Challa zip past her, sailing through the helicopter and slamming the gunman into the fire extinguisher on the wall. The pilot was tossed to the back and the helicopter whipped around, getting flown onto the top of the adjacent rooftop. "And you're not only the king of Wakanda, but an Avenger at that."

"You sound aggravated," T'Challa said, dragging the men out and sliding them across the rooftop unconscious.

"I would have prefered you would have said _something_ about being T'Challa back at the airport," she said.

Black Panther chuckled. "I wanted you to meet me first, not my title."

"Yes, but it would have been nice to know that you at least had a name," Angela said.

"Fair enough, secret flying angel woman with a force field staff," T'Challa said, "but speaking of important information, why was Reaper after you?"

"We can talk about that later," she said, landing on the roof and her wings folding.

"So we are still on for tonight?" T'Challa asked.

"I was going to bail," she teased, "but now we have something to discuss." They both hopped back into the conference room to the bright flashes of numerous elated cameras. "Avengers don't seem to be the type to stick around- where will you go when the dust settles here?"

"I have an address to give," he said nonchalantly, tapping on his mic. "The rest, I'll pick you up at eight, unless you have plans tonight."

She smirked. "You work fast."

"See you soon." He winked, strolling back to his podium next to Theresa's as Mercy flew away.

"Sorry for the brief interruption, work called," he said, rousing a nervous laugh as he turned to the prime minister, "but that's all sorted out for now- we must continue with this address, or else we risk legitimizing their movement."

Theresa smiled, joining him back at the podium to an applause. "I couldn't agree more, but I think our audience has had enough for one day?"

"Well," he said, taking off the mask. "I still have time for any questions."

* * *

 **OKAY SO AS YOU SEE**

 **REAPER GOT BUFFED TO SHIT TO KEEP UP AND HE STILL GOT HIS SHIT ROCKED**

 **BC C'MON**

 **BLACK PANTHER**

 **WHAT ARE MATCHUPS/SHIPS YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE?!**

 **I KNOW SPIDEY WASN'T IN THIS CHAPTER BUT HE'LL BE IN CHAP 4**

 **REVIEW!**


	4. Chapter 4-6

**I'm**

 **BAAAAAAACK**

 **This one's super long bc of the delay, consider it three chapters in one. I do a couple change in perception techniques without a hard line in this chapter, lmk if they work! :D**

 **I'm going to do a few small changes to chapters 1 and 2, nothing major just edits to dialogue so that things are smoother and a couple fixes to glaring errors like sentences getting cut off halfw**

 **Try to find all of the gameplay quotes in this one, the guy who finds the most gets an approving nod**

 **Also as you see I've changed it from M to T, the story will be exactly the same tho**

* * *

Peter slipped through crowds of students desperate to escape the cold, moving down the steps of the bright lecture hall wearing an all gray Adidas hoodie, cargo pants, and a pair of white gym shoes that squeaked from the snow stuck to the bottom from outside. He made his way down to the front row, seeing his fellow international students from two nights ago lined in the first two rows tired but alive. One familiar face sat behind him, she was a dark-skinned, African woman of average height with long, beautiful and voluminous black braided hair up in a bun with white hair accessories and her bright, brown eyes staring bored at the chalkboard with "AI: An Introduction to Computer Science, Engineering, and the Future" up in quick, sloppy handwriting by an old, short, frizzy haired Latina woman wearing a blue sweater and white pants. Peter caught Hana's eye sitting in the front. She wore a pink, long-sleeved shirt with "BTS" in slanted white letters over the chest and a pair of white jeans and black boots. He gave her a small nod and a smile before sitting down next to her and turning around. "I didn't expect to see you outside of- you know."

"I've been here for a semester already," she said with the signature Wakandan accent. "'You can't stay home forever,' brother said, 'you need to see the world,' brother said," she scoffed. "I can go on a plane and see the world any time, even he breezed through this computer science program."

"Okay, but look at the kind of things you and your brother build back home. I don't think _anything_ here would challenge you, so leave us mere mortals alone," Peter chuckled, "a degree at Oxford is nothing to laugh at, though."

"I guess it's cold, it's early, and I'd rather be in pajamas right now," Shuri said.

Hana laughed, looking back and extending her hand. "Honestly, same. Hana Song."

"Shuri," she said, making Peter's face go completely pale.

"Is there something wrong, Peter?" Hana asked.

"Look in the back," Shuri said with a small, knowing smile. Peter glanced up toward the back of the lecture hall, seeing two tall, bald, Wakandan women with brown eyes wearing civilians' clothing keeping an eye on Shuri safely from above.

Peter nodded. "Just making sure you're safe."

Hana looked toward the back as well, squinting in case she was missing something. "What am I looking for?"

"I was saying that the farther you go back, the less likely you are to get called on," Shuri covered, "since you guys are in the front, I'd say your prayers now."

Hana scoffed. "You're only a seat back, what if she decides to call on you instead?"

Shuri smirked. "She won't."

"And why is that?"

Shuri stood up, wearing a white shirt with "Oxford CS" in blue over the chest with a pair of blue jeans and black boots. "I'm the graduate student instructor for the course."

Hana's jaw dropped. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," Shuri chuckled, stepping over the knees of stunned eavesdroppers on their conversation. "Good luck. Don't die, Peter."

"Always helpful, pal," Peter said, watching her pull a laptop from her black backpack and putting it on the table next to the lecturer's podium.

"Is she your friend from New York?" Hana asked.

"We met there," Peter said, "under some pretty _strange_ circumstances."

"Everything about you seems strange," Hana said.

"Good morning to you too," Peter said, pulling out his laptop. Starcraft was still open on his laptop, but he quickly closed it before he thought anybody would see.

"You play Starcraft?" Hana asked. "What's your username?"

"Human Spider," Peter said, making her cover her mouth while she laughed. His eyes narrowed. "What's so funny?"

"You're the guy who ran away a few nights ago," Hana said, "I waited for you to get online yesterday like you said but you never did."

" _D. Va,_ " he hissed.

"Sounds like somebody's still salty," Hana taunted. "It's okay, since our program's making us work together over the semester, I'll have plenty of opportunities to kick your butt until you stop feeling bad about it."

"Not everyone gets to practice by joining the military's mech suit brigade," Peter said.

"So then you knew that playing against me is futile," Hana said with an evil laugh.

"Are you kidding?" Peter said. "Pro-gamer to soldier and actress, you're the game's leading player in stats and notoriety." He swallowed his pride like a chalky, white pill. "I guess I'm nowhere near good enough to beat you… _yet_."

"How about never," she winked, turning toward the board.

"Welcome, aspiring engineers, computer scientists, any doctors in here?" the professor said.

Peter and Shuri were the only two to raise their hands.

"You're going to have a bad time," the professor said, rousing a laugh from the class. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. My name is professor Hidalgo, I will be guiding you through your intermediate to advanced education in applications of techniques and theories you already know to the cutting edge of machine technology in the world today. First, we will do a short problem, think of it as a self-diagnostic. Our graduate student instructor this semester will display the question momentarily."

It seemed like a fairly simple number theory problem, but soon after starting it, everyone in the room figured out otherwise. "Gum?" Hana said, holding out a stick to Peter.

"Sure, thank you." Peter popped it in his mouth and continued typing. "What did you get?"

"Point seven three," she said, putting concern on his face. "I take it you got something else?"

"Point nine nine," Peter said.

"It's obvious," the tall, bookish-looking British boy in a black turtleneck and black jeans with wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes said, leaning over to look at Hana's laptop. "Everything you did was correct. It's what I got too."

"Can I see how you did it?" Peter asked.

"No, try again first," he said, smiling at Hana. "I'm Carlisle, and you are…"

"Hana," she said. "I think-"

"We should form a study group, you know?" he said with a wide grin. "We could get a headstart on studying!"

"That's great, but we should double check our-"

"Here's my number," he said, handing her his iPhone. "You can put yours in mine as well, or I could just text you later."

"I mean, _okay_ ," she said in a huff, quickly taking the phone and adding him to her Facebook instead, "but I think we made a mistake. We should do it again, just to be safe."

"I'm pretty sure it's point ninety nine," Peter said, with the other guy not even meeting his eye.

"Then you must have done something wrong," he said, pointing up to the board where the question's answers were listed as a poll, with Peter being the only student brave enough to answer the way he did. "So, Hana, where are you from?"

Peter just turned back toward the board while Carlisle and Hana "hit it off," mainly with the blond and charming brit making sure Hana had every piece of his contact information. "Does anyone feel confident to explain why they got their answer?" Shuri asked, silencing the lecture hall.

Carlisle, Hana, and Peter's hands went up, with Carlisle's airing the most confidence.

"Front row, black sweater," Shuri said. As soon as he said his first word, it was over. "Wrong. Anyone else?"

Carlisle hid his red embarrassment with laughter. Peter kept his hand up.

"Adidas," Shuri said, smirking as he calmly gave his short explanation. "Good job."

Peter felt the side glares from all around the room in the back of his head.

Hidalgo chuckled. "You weren't actually supposed to get that. What this problem was leading into is the creation of the first ever complete AI, _J.A.R.V.I.S._ at Stark Industries and the first problem Doctor Tony Stark taught it how to solve. This shows our crucial role in understanding it, all the capabilities we want a machine to have is defined by what problem we want it to solve, and if the problem is solving problems, then we are teaching it to think better than us. What that question is meant to do is to orient you with the scale of application this field has, both the power and the danger of it. It's good to know that some of you are already familiar with it.

Now, let's get started, just give me a moment to boot up my laptop."

"Dang, you were right," Hana said, peering at his laptop. "Can I see how you did it?"

"I'm heading to the library later today," Carlisle cut in, "I bet you and I could figure out where we went wrong."

Hana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, um, or I could just look right here?"

"The lecture is starting," Peter said, "I'll show you later."

Hana ignored Carlisle's aggravated scoff as the whole class absorbed as much as they could of the 90 minute lecture. Peter seemed to be the only one in the front enjoying it, actively asking questions the entire time. For him, this was review. The lecture finished with the shuffling of backpacks and laptops being put away. Peter stood up and bravely walked over to the professor.

"Professor Hidalgo," Peter said, extending his hand. "I'm Peter."

Hidalgo shook his hand. "Do you have a last name?"

"Peter Parker," he said half-laughingly. "I just wanted to introduce myself. I interned under Doctor Stark for a while back home, and I learned quite a bit about Jarvis- I'm still playing with Legos compared to you and him, of course. It was pretty _exciting_ to say the least."

Shuri chuckled at that. "I'm glad to see you have a solid foundation for the course, and it's extremely rare for him to accept interns as young as yourself," the professor said. "I have to go now, but you should come to my office hours, I'd be glad to talk about it and answer any questions you might have."

"I will!" Peter said with enthusiasm. "See you on Monday, professor."

Peter walked out with Hana and Shuri in the cold, where the snow fell softly on the icy sidewalks of the busy, vibrant college town. "Let me know when you and Hana meet up," Shuri said. "I have always wanted to try a Starbucks- we don't have them back home."

"Sounds good," Peter said, "maybe now that you and your brother are here together, you'll get in on some of the action this time."

"Who's your brother?" Hana asked.

"He's an Oxford physicist who goes all over the world on goodwill missions, but he's here for a few days on business with Stark Industries," Shuri said. "He said he'd let us tour the facility he works at while he's here." Her entourage stopped behind her with a click of their heels, eyeing Peter and Hana suspiciously.

"We must go," one of her bodyguards said.

Shuri rolled her eyes. "I guess I'll see you later- what does your schedule look like?"

"My last class today ends at 12, it's a solid four hour class block today," Peter said, "I was going to head back to my host for a while, help her with some errands."

"If you want, I'll be touring London with the girls all day," Shuri said, waving to them as she walked away. "Text me if you're down!"

Hana watched the way her two "friends" walked, perfectly aligned and in step with each other. She laughed to herself, knowing that he and Shuri thought that she couldn't see a set of undercover guards. She continued walking with him and a couple of other students from their program to their next class. "So, you said you were an intern at Stark Industries? It must be pretty exciting to get to work with an Avenger, especially after what happened in New York."

"I was actually left on house sitting duty whenever he'd go off to fight," Peter said, making her laugh, "most of my internship was learning how to clean suits."

"Certainly you did more than that," Hana said, "obviously some of it paid off today."

"You seemed pretty bored yourself," Peter joked, "I'm guessing most of the technical applications we talked about in class, you got to use in a very practical setting."

"It's why I'm able to crush you online," Hana teased.

Peter's face twisted into a small frown. "You… you're horrible."

Hana laughed playfully, pulling out her phone. "Here, add your number and let me know when you want to study, or get embarrassed again."

"I'm going to swipe my hand across your keyboard when we play next time," Peter said, putting his number in. He received a winky face text moments later with a bunny icon next to it.

Hana gasped. "Actually, a friend of mine is visiting this afternoon and wants to meet up at The Eye at two, wanna go? We can meet Shuri there earlier too."

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. "Let me just check my-"

"We can get coffee afterwards," Hana said, putting her hand over his phone before he could look down at it. "You can show me how you did that problem there."

Peter looked anyway, seeing a text from Lena. She wasn't going to be there anyway. "She just canceled." Peter smiled nervously, putting his phone away. "Absolutely," he said, stopping with her in front of their next lecture hall. "I'll meet up with you right after class at the bus stop."

"See you there, Peter," Hana said, standing outside the lecture hall. She waited until he went inside and went around the back of the building. Carlisle gawked at her from afar and she scared him off with a simple wave. She pulled out her white phone, seeing a flashing, orange and grey symbol that looked similar to a peace sign with the center cut in half and detached from the top suggesting an unconventional way of maintaining it. "Angela," she said, "you were right."

"Great, this means I have something else to rub in Lena's face," Angela said victoriously with a Swiss accent, "and he was right under her nose the whole time. What gave it away for you? As soon as T'Challa revealed himself, I had a hunch about the identity of the kid trailing him."

"He 'interned' under Iron Man," Hana said in a quiet, hushed voice, "said he was 'house sitting,' but held intricate, albeit public, knowledge about Jarvis. He was the only kid there under Iron Man's watch, so it's consistent with our footage of the event in New York."

"Can you get him into London, so we can see him in action?" Angela said. "Winston just wants confirmation, since he was too fast for most of our cameras to catch."

"I'm sure something will come up," Hana said, "especially after what happened to you this morning, now Reaper and company are getting bold."

"But he'll be in London, with you, today?" Angela asked.

"Of course," Hana said, blowing a bubble and popping it to chew it more. "He was practically shaking when I asked him."

"A lot of people would be, you are a pretty famous celebrity right now," Angela chuckled.

" _Okay yeah_ , but, chill?" she said. "How about yourself? Did you find him?"

"I've scoured the hospital I'm working at where he's supposedly visiting as a guest neurosurgeon, no luck," she said. "He, or she, is supposed to be on my staff as well, but none of them fit our criteria."

"He's gotta turn up somewhere," D. Va reassured her.

"I'll admit, it was much harder finding a magician in a red cape than I thought," Angela said, "but another Avenger came right to me."

"Who?" Hana asked.

" _Black._ _Panther_."

Hana gasp. "T'Chaka?"

"No, his son, T'Challa, took the mantle from him and is carrying it _quite_ well," Angela said, "apparently he was the one in New York."

"Then how will you go about changing objectives? Your original target is in London right now!"

Angela's scheming giggle sounded promising. "T'Challa's taking me out to dinner tonight."

"Lucky you," Hana said.

"Among you, me, and Satya," Angela said, "this leaves sixteen more to find. There are 19 of us as well, if we all do our part then we should be ready to formally introduce ourselves in no time. Get to class."

Hana hung up and counted the three they found on her fingers. "T'Challa, Tony Stark," she said under her breath, looking up as something made a crunch in the snow on the top of the lecture hall. She smirked. "Peter?"

Peter watched Hana several buildings away go into the lecture before she was late. He reached into his pocket for a discreet, black flip phone and pressed the center button. "Your Highness," he said, "somebody's keeping tabs on us."

"I'm going to dinner with a member of their organization tonight," he said, "after the attack today by the Reaper, she owes me an explanation as to who the Reaper is and what he wanted with her. There's a reason this organization is presenting themselves to us in this way, so let them think they have the drop on us."

"So that woman that was on the plane wasn't just setting off my Spidey-Sense for kicks," Peter said.

"Shuri let me in on their entire conversation," he said, "but they are expecting us and Tony after I finish this press conference in London, I'm not exactly sure for what just yet. We were supposed to meet afterward with him for a meeting, but some of our friends got delayed until tomorrow morning."

"Our _friends?_ "

"He called everyone in."

The gravity in T'Challa's voice filled Peter with a sense of impending danger. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Me too," T'Challa said, "but with everyone here, we'll keep him in check if whatever he decides to do is dangerous. He's been paranoid ever since that day."

"I would be too," Peter said, "gods falling from the sky, frozen super soldiers, the guy on the side of the green bean cans coming to life, all reminding him of his mortality."

"And we will keep him from doing something he regrets," T'Challa said, walking back into the conference room and smiling at Angela and the Prime Minister. "Don't forget, we'll meet tomorrow morning. We'll send someone to pick you up. See you soon."

T'Challa put away his phone and walked back into the conference building.

"Your Highness," the Prime Minister said, "we still have just a couple more questions we said we would answer."

"Of course," the king said pleasantly, returning to the podium. He watched the clock carefully as the hours went on, answering everything with the fairness and regalness his position called for him to be. Security shuffled the reporters out and swarmed the Prime Minister before anything else like Reaper had the chance to leave. T'Challa and Angela walked out beside them, stepping out into cloudy but busy and lively city. He checked his watch. "One thirty."

"Do you have somewhere you need to be?" she asked.

"I was going to get something to eat," T'Challa said, "you can join me, if you'd like. I have some questions about the Reaper, about 'Mercy,' I like to get my business out of the way before we play."

"I would be happy to," she said, walking next to him into downtown. They found a casual but fine dining building near Westminster Abbey where mostly other men and women in business came in for a quick bite to eat, moving in and out at their leisure. The smell of pasta lingered in the air. "Welcome to Bon Gusto, sir," the old host said with a British accent. "Table for one, yes? I can get you seated right away."

"Oh, we're together," Angela said, her smile fading at the host's eyes shifting back and forth between her and her date for the day.

"Is there a problem?" T'Challa asked, making him step back.

"No, not at all," he said with his best smile, "right this way."

Angela and T'Challa followed him to a booth adjacent to a window where they could watch people moving back and forth but those outside couldn't look back at them. The sat across from each other and smiled, taking the menus. "We have a special daily appetizer, the Bruschetta Pizzaiola with mozzarella and a fresh basil garnish, if you would like to try it today. I can also start you off with drinks."

"That sounds wonderful," Angela said, "I would like the appetizer with a hot tea, please."

"And for you, sir?" he said.

"Likewise," he said, sending him away. T'Challa set his eyes on the helicopter-crashing angel.

"Can I help you?" Angela said with a smirk.

"Tell me a little about yourself," he said.

"Are you talking to Angela, or Mercy?" she asked.

"Surprise me," he said playfully, waiting for her to answer. He reached over his shoulder, pulling off a tiny, white caduceus that had been pinned to his back. He slid it across the table, putting it carefully in her hand. "And be a little better at it this time," he said in a low voice.

"I won't ruin it now, but," she said, "Reaper's mission was to kill the both of us, and all of our friends. You breaking their top assassin set them back. It's only a matter of time before they try again."

He figured that if she could say their name in public, she would have said it already. "What do _they_ , what do _you_ , want with me?"

Angela looked up at the ceiling. "Five years ago, you could look up confidently, knowing just what, and _who_ , was out there, and go back to your daily business," she said, looking back at him, "but for the past year, the world has been silenced in fear. A man who called himself a god came down from the sky with an army that came from a realm vastly superior to our own, and all the powers in the world couldn't stop it. No amount of bullets, no amount of money from any man in the world could control them and make them bend to their will. A group outside their influence called the Avengers sweeps in with its own otherworldly force laying hidden from the ignorant and arrogant for so long and does exactly what they can't. They're afraid of you, T'Challa, and they were afraid of us. Akande has since joined their ranks, given that my organization cannot carry out an investigation to prevent something terrible from happening, we came to you."

"So then you know who broke him out of the prison _I_ put him in," he said, now entirely intrigued. "Why not come to us directly, instead of luring us out like this?"

"Because as of now, we don't exist, and knowing your organization's connections to the UN, we'd be shut down before we even started," she said, sliding an orange and gray, tiny earpiece on a business card across the table. "However, what you did in New York inspired us anyway, and given our mutual enemy's activities ramping up excessively since then, we've decided it's time to come back."

T'Challa read the card, memorizing the coordinates present and sliding it into his wallet.

"Meet me there tomorrow morning," she said, "our president would greatly appreciate your time, and tell you all we have on our friend, Akande. It's not the first time we've tangled with the likes of him."

"Then your knowledge will prove invaluable," T'Challa said, "with my database allowing us to do an in-depth analysis of his motives to determine where he will strike."

"I wouldn't want to be on the other end of this investigation," Mercy said, "you and I are going to work very well together."

"Yes," he said expectantly, tapping his fingers on the table. "What's your role in this organization, Angela?" he asked.

Mercy smiled proudly. "I'm the medic," she said, "the suit was originally for responding to crises worldwide in the aftermath of the Omnic Crisis, now I just moonlight as the world's leading nanobiologist."

"Very humble," T'Challa chuckled. "I am very much interested in Mercy, and what your agency can offer to the world," he said, "but tell me about Angela."

"Were you not surprised?" she said.

"I was left thunderstruck," he said, striking her back with a stare from his piercing, amber eyes, "for more than one reason."

Angela gasped, slapping his arm playfully. "Stop!" she laughed, tapping her chin. "What _about_ Angela?" She smiled. "I like snowsports, especially skiing, I like to dance and do gymnastics, a little martial arts of course, mystery books and dramas. I especially love botany, for medical research, and of course, opera. This isn't speed dating, Your Highness," she said. You'll get to know more about me as we go along."

The king laughed as the waiter came with the drinks and appetizers, scuttling away to the kitchen. "Fair enough," T'Challa said, "but you can't blame me now that we've _talked_ , I want to know just as much about you as you do me. "

"Where's the fun in that?" she asked him.

'"It's only fair," he said. "You have many layers, Angela, each one more perplexing than the last."

"Then we can take our time tonight," she said seductively. "I certainly wouldn't mind teaching you a thing or two about me, I'd be _very_ interested in peeling some of your layers back while we're at it."

They stared at each other in a tense silence, with Angela waiting to see if he was willing to play ball. "Well then, Miss Ziegler," he said mysteriously, "I might be willing to learn."

The waiter came back. "Are you ready, or do you need a little more time?"

"We're ready," Angela said, looking down at the menu and seeing the window completely blocked in the reflection of the glossy cover.

"To leave," T'Challa said, glaring out of the window. "I'll handle the bill." She looked up and he took her hand, leading her over to the window. Helicopters flew over Big Ben, with six men standing in a line looking down upon the people. "And them…"

"Oi!" a shrill, Australian man's voice screeched from the top of Big Ben, nearly a half-mile dash down the road. "Me and my mate, Roadhog, got a message for any Bruce dumb enough to play Two-Up with Reaper and think they can get away with it!"

"Junkrat?" Angela said, running outside with the king. "What could _they_ want?"

"Get down," T'Challa said quickly, diving toward the restaurant with Angela as a gunshot cracked through the sky and hit the ground right where the king stood.

"How did you know?" Angela gasped.

T'Challa tapped his ear. "It is not just my strength and speed that are enhanced," he said, turning toward the shooter perched on the building on the other end of the street, "but my hearing as well!" he shouted. He stepped into the middle of the street and the crowds parted as the Vibranium suit folded over him, revealing his true self to legions of fans stricken with excitement, relief, and fear. "I heard your steps from miles away, Kraven! You cannot catch a simple spider, what on Earth makes you believe that a Black Panther would be any easier?"

A tall, muscular man wearing a leopard-skin garment that covered his arms and back with a lion's brown mane around the back of his neck and wearing a pair of cheetah-skinned pants with black combat boots jumped straight down from the building. "King T'Challa!" he bellowed with a rough, deep Russian man's voice, slinging his rifle over his back and wielding a set of machetes. He had the look of an old, European huntsman with the thick but short, black mustache and beard, piercing brown eyes that were cold and ruthless, and wild, black hair that was short but unruly like the mane he stole. "Your actions this morning were honorable and formidable, but when my prey presents itself, Kraven the Hunter will take advantage!"

"You know him?" Angela whispered.

"He's a very resilient foe who started hunting a higher caliber prey when he got bored of hunting big game," T'Challa said, "may this be his last safari. I can handle him while you get yourself ready."

"You may have bested me last time," Kraven chuckled, "but I am no longer alone in the hunt. These six fine huntsmen that were supplemented to me will be more than enough to bag the elusive Black Panther!"

"You are a discount Klaw," he spat with a booming voice amplified to a panther's roar by his suit, "if whoever sent you here could have afforded his prices, he would be here, not you!"

"This Bruce is pretty mouthy," Junkrat said, followed by the roar of motorcycles as Angela watched the six figures scale down the famous clock tower. "C'mon boys, let's shut 'im up!"

Black Panther watched Kraven charge him from the front and heard the other six "huntsmen" from behind, but he stayed calm and collected as always. "Peter," he said into his helmet communicator, "it appears what our friends predicted would happen came to pass."

"Yeah, I can see it," Peter said into his phone, watching the six figures ride down the side of the tower while he and Hana stood against the glass in a pod connected to a large Ferris Wheel. It touched down and the two undercover agents rushed out, hearing the revving motorcycles in the distance.

"Stay here," Hana said, tapping the bunny icon on her phone. Within seconds, a pink rocket the size of a minivan soared overhead and circled around the South Korean soldier.

"My host is here right now with her family," Peter said with genuine concern on his face. "They could be killed!"

"Trust me, Peter," Hana said, knowing what he was going to do next with a confident smirk. "You won't want to get in between them and me, it's not going to be pretty!"

"Sorry, but," Peter said, dashing down the road, "as long as she's in harm's way, I'm not just going to let her get hurt!"

The pink rocket morphed before their eyes into a 13-foot tall, humanoid bot that reminded him of a cross between Voltron and Alien with a long head acting as the cockpit that she backflipped into. The tinted glass closed over her and the control panels lit up. She put her right hand on a controller resembling a computer mouse while her other hand inputted commands on a panel like a keyboard, making the mech's feet light up with rocket fuel. She passed him overhead. "You'll just slow me down, I'll make sure your host's safe!" she taunted, her voice coming out of the bot with a booming presence that was completely opposite to her behavior in class and on the bus. "I'm taking the point, don't worry- I got this!"

Peter watched her burst over Britain with rockets in her feet and hands, leaving him trailing behind on the ground. It didn't matter to him, however. He'd catch up to her soon. He snuck through the alleyways, pulling out his phone again. "Shuri, where are you right now?" he said with a hushed voice, pulling off his hoodie and revealing the baggy, red and blue jumpsuit underneath. It was fit with a webbing outline over his chest and arms, with a sleek, black spider emblem on his chest and a thicker, blockier red spider on his back. He slipped his pants off and reached into his backpack, exchanging his gym shoes for a pair of light red boots. He stuffed his clothes in his backpack and tapped a singular Kimoyo bead on the zipper, making it vanish before his eyes with a blue flash of Vibranium.

"I'm backing up my brother right now," Shuri said, with Peter hearing the sounds of metal on metal in the background, "but with the other six coming, I would suggest hurrying it up. It appears the woman he is with is taking her sweet time helping him out! Wait until mother finds out he's trying to date her too!"

"This is supposed to be a test of some sort," Peter said, slipping on a baggy, red mask with white eyes that had black, camera shutter-like borders that focused in on what he was seeing. His mask attached to the rest of the suit magnetically and the costume tightened around him, showing off his lean, muscular body he hid underneath his street clothes. "Maybe it's not what they had in mind, but _Spider-Man_ is getting an A for London's sake!"

"Stop with the theatrics and just get here!" Shuri said.

Spider-Man aimed his hand at the corner of the building he hid behind and pressed his palm with his fingers to make a devil sign with his hand, firing a thick line of white, synthetic webbing with a distinct _thwip_ noise as it flew through the air and attached to the building from a small device on his wrist. Peter yanked himself up to the rooftops with one strong pull, watching Hana maneuver around the buildings toward the fight downtown. Hana's radar beeped with a blue dot appearing behind her and gaining fast. Hana glanced at the camera feed aimed behind her, seeing the blue and red spider swinging and flipping from building to building catching up fast. He vanished in a purple flash and reappeared next to her, pointing finger guns at the star before streaking toward Big Ben. "He's fast," Hana said in her headset, pressing a red button in the center of the panel, "but if he thinks he's going to outdo me, then he has another thing coming!"

"It's not a competition, D. Va," Angela said, rising into the air with a golden and white aura around her in her Valkyrie suit. She brandished her staff with a warrior's cry and followed Hana and the American agent down the clock tower behind the six messengers. "Remember, we're trying to get them to help us."

"It doesn't have to be a contest for me to want to win, Mercy," D. Va giggled, locking onto all six targets, "I'm not a good loser."

Mercy chuckled. "Then you'd better move faster," she said, watching T'Challa flip over two machete swings as the six sent to help the hunter closed in on him. Black Panther looked down at his seven opponents, the sun appearing through the clouds to cast a black shadow over the king to instill fear into those foolish enough to challenge him. He met Kraven's eyes with his silver, piercing gaze, opening his arms and dropping a multitude of small smoke bombs over the battlefield. T'Challa vanished into his ring of opponents as a black flash, leaving Hana and Mercy in awe as they rushed toward the smoke behind the other Avenger. "I think any record you think you're going to get, Black Panther's going to shatter it."

All seven of Kraven and his troupe choked on the smoke. "I thought you liked gunsmoke, Kraven!" T'Challa taunted, dodging three slashes of his machete and catching a fourth with his claws. Kraven kicked him in the chest and slung his rifle back over his shoulder.

"It's the best smell in the world," he said, firing at the king's feet as he slunk back into the smoke. "Second to only roasted Panther!"

Black Panther flipped back, seeing six other bodies through the smoke rushing toward him. "Sister," he said, "what would you recommend for this mission?" He caught a long, brown tongue and yanked the amphibian man toward him, crumpling him over his fist and tossing him aside.

"Keep Kraven awake for questioning, the other six are just henchmen," Shuri said, hearing the grunts in pain of Junkrat as T'Challa kicked him off his motorcycle and into Roadhog's gargantuan stomach. T'Challa whipped three Panther-shaped throwing stars that flew on their own in the air, letting out piercing screams that blew the smoke and the other three opponents away. "As for the rest of the mission, I feel like an upgrade in aesthetic is in order."

T'Challa took several rifle butts to the head and the king rolled back, crossing his arms and blocking a blast to the face. "Shuri…"

"You're so lame, brother," Shuri said, with T'Challa practically hearing her eyes rolling from his communicator. "Iron Man has old white boys who scream into a microphone, we outdo him in tech and we can outdo him here as well!"

"It's not our style," T'Challa said, hearing the sounds of war drums similar to the Zulu military with a modern flair and beat from the best musicians in Wakanda blast out from black, Vibranium speakers suspended above the battleground, "but maybe just this one time. Is this a Kendrick remix?"

"Humble," Shuri said, "Kraven needs to sit down."

"I still don't know about this," he said warily, dodging bullets left and right. A chain wrapped around his neck from Roadhog and with a yank the Australian was airborne.

"You wore the Wakandan equivalent of Crocs to your coronation ceremony to make the elders happy," Shuri said, "I think they will forgive you if you indulge just this once."

"If I had said that I wanted music, you would have said the opposite," T'Challa said, backflipping off Kraven's chest and slicing two opponents in the face.

"Well yeah," she said as a matter of face, "your musical taste is trash!"

"Listening to the same Beyonce song for an hour on repeat does not count as a musical taste," T'Challa snapped, "so you are one to talk!"

"Don't you dare insult the Queen Bey," she spat, "one more word and I shut down your suit!"

T'Challa scoffed and went to throw a punch, finding his arm to be locked in position by his side. "This is why I leave you at home!" he said, hearing her laugh as she granted him control over his suit again.

He pushed past Kraven's rifle and drew his fist back. Kraven smirked, pulling out a snub-nosed pistol and jamming it in the king's chest. "I've never owned a Vibranium rug," Kraven hissed, pulling the trigger but finding the gun no longer in his hand. "What?!"

"Hey everyone," Spider-Man said, landing on a parked white van and tossing Kraven's gun away.

" _Spider-Man!_ " Kraven exclaimed.

"You miss me?" Peter taunted, yanking his other hand back and slamming Kraven into the side of the van. He flipped into the circle of foes back to back with the king. "What, did you get bored or something? Hunting spiders isn't a very new thing, y'know? One can of RAID will save you a lot of trouble, let me tell you-"

"No, I did not forget you," Kraven growled, rising to his feet. "In fact, you have just created a very rare opportunity for me."

"As if getting beaten to the musical stylings of Grammy Award winning artist Kendrick Lamar wasn't enough?" Spider-Man said.

"I will kill two birds with one stone," Kraven said, charging again, "and put your heads on my wall!"

"Technically," Black Panther said, "neither of us are birds."

Spider-Man gasped. "A _quip_ , Your Highness?"

"It won't happen again," Black Panther said sternly. "Remember what I taught you."

"I'll take pumpkin head and frog guy," he said, "we've got backup coming."

"Remember they're testing us," T'Challa said, "at this rate, we fight like we're taking them down ourselves."

"Roadhog, Junkrat, stay with me," Kraven ordered. "The rest of you, put down the spider, but keep him alive, I must be the one to crush him under my boot like the bug he is."

"Aw, you do care," Spider-Man said, firing two weblines from his wrists at "pumpkin head" and "frog guy." He whipped them into the base of Big Ben and catapulted himself toward them, kicking them hard in the chest and flipping back. "And he sticks the landing!" he said, bouncing on his toes. "Are you guys okay? I've never thrown a couple of dudes into a building as famous as that one before, one of you dying on it would kinda kill the thrill of it."

"You'll pay for what you did to my cousin, Spider-Man!" the pumpkin-headed villain said with a woman's light, British accent. She wore a metal, high-tech pumpkin mask set ablaze by a green fire, wearing a green, scaly jumpsuit with green metal boots and gloves with a black utility belt.

"Okay, one motive down," Spider-Man said, "what, you're the pumpkin bomb that Green Goblin kept throwing?"

"I am Mad Jack, cousin of the man you put in jail, Mysterio!" Mad Jack hissed, letting her hands roar to life in green fire.

Spider-Man chuckled. "I get it, you're mad, Mad Jack, Jack-o-Lantern, that's cute, you're clever-" Spider-Man dodged the frog man's tongue with quick reflexes. "Out of all the X-Men villains, Kraven finds you, Toad?"

Toad was a short, sickly-looking man with pale, green skin, scraggly black hair, and sick, yellow eyes under a pair of goggles. His teeth were rotten and brown with a fly stuck in between two of them, and all he wore was a pair of grey jeans and a green striped shirt with a light brown coat. "I live here," he said with a reptilian rattle to his deep voice.

"I'd imagine you have trouble finding a roommate," Spider-Man said.

Toad chuckled. "Touchy, aren't we? Do I make your Spider Senses tingle?"

Spider-Man gagged in his mask, flipping over them and landing on the side of the clock tower. "Never say that to me, or about me, ever again."

"I'm gonna eat you up, bloke!" Toad spat, punching through cement with his tongue as Mad Jack rocketed toward him.

"God, that's even worse!" Spider-Man whimpered, dodging a green fireball from Mad Jack as she rounded the side of the building. He dodged a spray of bullets and a lightning bolt from the other two below and flipped around the corner, running on the side of the building and firing a short bolt of webbing to counter another fireball. He dodged tongue jabs from behind without even needing to look and caught onto Mad Jack's leg. "You ever see that old Bruce Lee film, the Big Boss?" he said, pulling himself through the air and rattling her brain with a flying kick that sent her crashing onto a rooftop of another building across the bridge over the Thames. "Well, if you haven't, the final kick is kinda like that!" he shouted, swinging across the bridge with Toad and the other two assigned to his death following him. Spider-Man and Toad landed on the building with amazing vertical leaps and Mad Jack rolled to her feet. "So, who dropped you guys off?" He ducked a tongue swipe but took a kick from Toad to the chest. "Someone isn't skipping leg day," he chuckled, knowing he'd feel that tomorrow. "No, but seriously, who are you working for?"

"I don't know how many fights you've actually been in, kid," Mad Jack said, "but the more you talk, the faster you die!"

"She lied," he finished for her in a narrator's voice. Toad's tongue crashed through a generator and Peter fired a web bolt at his mouth. Toad flipped forward with surprising agility and dodged several of the spider's strikes with a contortionist's flexibility, punching him twice in the chest. Spider-Man fell off the side of the building but shot himself back into the air. "I'm sorry, but," he said, clashing with both of their furious and fast strikes in the air, "I can't take either of you seriously. You look like a clearance Halloween decoration and Toad's just… gross…"

"Toads can swallow spiders whole!" Toad said, kicking Peter onto another rooftop.

Peter rolled to his feet, winded by the strike but still fresh in the fight. "Please, just stop talking."

D. Va and Mercy recorded the two fights from overhead. "Are you seeing this, Winston?" D. Va said, seeing the other two assigned to Peter scaling the building quickly. "I knew they were good, but Peter was something I would have never expected, having an entire team of these people on our side is going to be amazing. It's going to make our little coffee trip far more interesting now."

"What, you're planning on 'catching' him?" Mercy said, watching T'Challa flatten the two Australians to the wall while brushing off a shot to the back.

"I'm considering it," D. Va said, "you're introducing King T'Challa to Winston tomorrow, I figured letting Spider-Man know that his secret is safe with somebody else would make it easier for me to bring him on board as well."

"We'll need to keep them alive for that to happen," Mercy said with a sigh, diving toward the king. "Must violence always be the solution?"

D. Va dived toward her classmate instead, firing several warning shots around the duo scaling the building to grab their attention. "Game on, boys!" she called out, using one swipe of her arm to knock them into the center of a war museum courtyard where knights re-enacted medieval combat for the observing crowd with a guide explaining to them the nuances with every stance and weapon. "Lightning bolt, british blaster, you're dealing with _me_ now!"

The lightning bolt rolled to his feet wearing a red and yellow mech suit standing at just seven feet tall with a tinted, glass helmet that hid his identity. "Union Jack," he said with a British accent to his partner. "Who in the hell is this?"

Union Jack rolled to his feet, wearing a black and red jumpsuit with the union jack across his chest, a machine gun across his back and pistols in both hands. "She's a MEKA user, Shockwave," the gunman spat, "from South Korea!"

"What are you doing here, little lady?" Shockwave said, blasting her head on with a bolt of lightning. D. Va gasped as the machine slid through the grass from the impact.

"I was in the area and decided I'd fly around looking for jerks who deserve a good butt-kicking," D. Va said, rolling to her feet and crunching a grenade tossed by Union Jack in one hand. "Do you guys know where I can find some?"

Union Jack and Shockwave turned to each other and laughed. "We're going to have fun with you," Union Jack said, looking back and finding their opponent no longer there.

"Up here, creeps!" D. Va said, her mech jutting out two wing-like thrusters from her back and taking off.

"This one's annoying," Shockwave spat, taking off after the celebrity.

"What am I supposed to do?!" Union Jack shouted.

"I don't know!" Shockwave said, keeping his eyes on the cute girl in the mech suit. "Now you're all mine!"

D. Va flipped around, facing him with rotating arm cannons. "Yeah, I don't think that's a good thing."

Shockwave felt several shotgun blasts hit him in the head and chest, barely denting his armor but bouncing him back. D. Va giggled as she spun around a lightning blast.

"Do a barrel roll!" she said with a nasally voice, firing several small missiles at the electric enemy that burst in his electric field.

"You can't touch me with those!" Shockwave's laugh was cut short, taking a punch to the stomach that folded him over her shiny, metal fist.

"Wasn't trying to," she said playfully, slamming him into the ground with him on her fist.

D. Va put Shockwave on the defensive while Union Jack sprinted all the way to the fight between T'Challa and Kraven, but he was intercepted again by the pink demon from above.

"Don't rage quit on me now," D. Va taunted, landing in front of him and Shockwave and lunging forward.

"Is that D. Va?" Roadhog asked, yanking T'Challa back with his chain hook.

"Maybe you're just hallucinating," T'Challa said, striking out out spit from the pig with a spin kick. Kraven hit him with his blade again, causing a purple streak to ripple through the helmet. "Don't worry, after today I'll have all of you needing a doctor!"

A golden and white flash swept Roadhog and Junkrat away, crashing them into the side of the restaurant and throwing them into their motorcycle. "You needed a doctor?" Mercy said, spreading her wings and spinning her staff.

The two Australian attackers rose to their feet and Mercy got a good look at them. Roadhog was a tall and wide, pink, pot-bellied, heavily tattooed man wearing a pig-shaped gas mask with an ensemble ripped straight from Mad Max and a short blond ponytail. He swung two hook chains in his brass knuckled fat fists next to his partner, a short and scrawny, pale man with a wooden leg in similar attire with a long, pointy face with sharp features, crazy brown eyes, spiky blond hair and looking at the healer with a crazy smile from ear to ear. "Never liked going to the doctor," Junkrat said, scuttling to their motorcycle and hopping into the sidecar, "no matter how much of a Sheila she may be! Let's ride, Roadhog!"

Roadhog hopped on the Harley that looked like it had been scrapped together from junk pieces of other motorcycles, letting out a maniacal laugh and revving it up at full throttle. Mercy swung her staff at a smiley-face mine whipped at her, but the mine stuck and burst to blast her through T'Challa and Kraven. "Mercy!" he exclaimed, turning toward the charging vagabonds and kicking them off their bike. With one punch the king cleaved right through it and prepared to strike again but the angel wasn't put down so easily, firing several blasts from her handgun at them to drive them back while the king pummeled them into the nearest streetlight. Kraven kicked T'Challa in the side, giving his partners a chance to breathe.

"Don't just stand there!" Kraven shouted.

"That bastard destroyed our ride!" Roadhog roared, stepping back to avoid several blasts aimed toward his pudgy feet.

"Keep your eyes on Kraven, Your Highness!" Mercy said, deflecting several hook swings and out maneuvering several blasts of shrapnel from their handguns. She landed in front of them and deflected a grenade launched from a homemade weapon in Junkrat's hand, spinning her staff again. "You're going to need to do a lot better than that if you want to take me down."

Junkrat giggled, aiming his blaster while Roadhog spun his hooks. "I'll hook you," Roadhog spat.

"And I'll cook you!" Junkrat laughed.

"That sounds simply unhealthy." Mercy raised her staff, blocking a hook to the face and deflecting a shrapnel grenade that nearly sliced her cheek open had she not leaned back. The blast knocked her to the ground but she wasn't down for long, sweeping Junkrat off his feet and kicking Roadhog in the stomach. Mercy stumbled back with a sharp pain shooting up her leg. "It's like kicking lead!"

Roadhog beat his belly and swung again with Mercy rolling out of the way, firing her blaster at his legs and making the swine fall flat in his back. Mercy stepped back, her eyes widening at Junkrat's nefarious laughter. "Looks like you've stepped in it now!" he said, triggering a second mine blast that crumpled her into the side of the restaurant.

Mercy was dazed but not out, batting another grenade away and into a nearby car that shredded the front seat with shrapnel. She gasped as Roadhog's hook wrapped around her leg and she braced herself, covering her head as she slammed into the office building across the street. Junkrat chuckled to himself, punching Roadhog in the arm.

"That's why I'm paying you that twenty five percent share," he told his bigger friend, keeping his eye on the blonde beauty even while Spider-Man, Toad, and Mad Jack swung back into the battleground with D. Va, Shockwave, and Union Jack turning the street into a Roman Candle light show. "Wanna see why I get the 75?" he said, pulling off one of several spiky tire-like wheels on his back. He twisted a knob in the center and steam blew from the center, making the wheel spin with a hum.

"Because you're greedy?" Roadhog said bitterly, throwing his hooks again.

T'Challa rolled in between the hooks and caught them in mid-air, ripping Roadhog toward him and kicking him into the other end of the street. "This ends now!" he roared over Junkrat's humming wheel rushing toward him with the beeping of a bomb.

"T'Challa!" Mercy shouted. "Wait-"

A red and gold flash intercepted the spinning disc of death and the block shook as it exploded in the air with the force of a ballistic missile. The fight came to a halt as all the combatants looked to the sky, watching two floating in shining armor that outclassed D. Va's by decades and an Indian woman in a blue, form fitting costume and black, thigh high rocket boots descend through the smoke. "You're right, Your Highness, this ends, now," the bitter man in the red and gold suit said, flipping up his golden mask to reveal an aggravated Tony Stark. "Jarvis, cue the music."

Blaring guitar chords from "Shoot to Thrill" overpowered Shuri's sound systems from all around the block, striking fear into the hearts of those who had never faced him in combat before and silencing the city.

"Showoff," Shuri said grumpily.

"You should have brought the better speakers," T'Challa said to her, helping Mercy to his feet, "you know he's never going to let us live this one down. He's always trying to beat Vibranium."

"No way," Junkrat said in awe, dropping the mines in his hands.

"Who's that?" Roadhog asked.

Junkrat continued looking up at the gleaming steel knights and the warrior of light, swallowing nervously. " _Iron Man._ "

As Iron Man, Tony was decked out in a tank of red and gold, shining steel plates combined with artillery located all over his body, from two glowing blue phaser cannons on his hands, the rocket thrusters from his boots and the small blades on his back, and the shining white orb hidden behind bulletproof glass in the center of his chest. His eyes glowed piercing blue under slits while the mask was down, with the lower edge of the mask forming a scowl on the suit's face. "Dunno why you're so impressed," Roadhog said. "I'm gonna take that arc reactor right from his chest and sell it, scrap the rest of him to build one hell of a new bike!"

"That guy built his first suit outta junk in a terrorist shithole in Afghanistan," Junkrat said, "he's got one hell of a head on his shoulders, with the guns to back it up!"

"What, ya think we're outclassed?"

"No question," Junkrat admitted with a crazed smile, "so let's at least give him one hell of a first impression!"

Iron Man, Black Panther, and Spider-Man lined up in the street with the other four heroes behind them. Kraven did the same, with his hired hands wiping the dust and asphalt from their clothes.

T'Challa and Kraven stood opposite of each other in the center of their small squads, with Kraven's team looking far more weathered and beaten than the fighters they had previously outnumbered. "Alright," Iron Man said, aiming his hands at the enemy with a high pitched humming coming from his hands. "Who threw the frisbee?"

"The duo that you saved from dealing with me," T'Challa said coldly.

"You look like you had your hands full," Iron Man said dismissively, setting his sights on Junkrat and Roadhog. "Now which one of you wants to taste rocket fuel for the next week and a half? Mine is grape flavored!"

"I'll take Oinkie over there," the second man in Iron Man armor said. He was a bit taller and bulkier than Tony's suit was, with black and gray as the color palette and glowing red eyes. His arsenal seemed far more ballistic than Iron Man's, with a pair of twin gatling guns perched on his shoulders each holding a stock of missiles. "Satya, go crazy."

"I intend to, War Machine," she said, "and it's _Symmetra_." Symmetra's blue and gold dress she wore as a costume was very form fitting with her toned thighs exposed, white, steel armor over her arms and jutting back and up from her headpiece and long, blue, flashy earrings. A triangle formed between the corners of her hard-light visor and a small, white extension over her forehead holding a blue crystal, more than likely the crystal and sides of the headpiece held the visor in place. She manipulated white and blue hard-light in her free hand, with her other hand occupied by a white, claw-like gun that had glowing white energy waiting at the end of the short, round barrel.

War Machine pointed the guns on his arms at Roadhog. "I'm gonna be diplomatic just this once," he said, "y'all can come quietly, and we don't have to do this. It looks like you were getting your asses beat before we got here, don't make it embarrassing."

Kraven pointed his machete at the king. "Enough talk, I return to my babushka with a Vibranium coat!"

T'Challa leaped through the air, sparking the brawl again with a flying kick to the face. War Machine sighed and Iron Man clapped his shoulder. "Maybe next time," Tony said, rushing across the battlefield. "Let's ride, Rhodey!"

The two squads of seven clashed again, with Symmetra finding herself face to face with Union Jack. She gasped at the gunman's quickdraw, holding out her free hand and wincing at the sound of cracking glass. She opened her eyes again and laughed at the bullets barely breaking her thin barrier. "You're shooting at the same thing over and over again," she said, pushing the wall toward him and firing her energy gun at him. "You lack imagination!"

"It doesn't take much of that to take you down," Union Jack said, dodging the beam of white light aimed right at his head. The beam curved around and hit the back of his head with a burning impact. Jack winced in pain and stumbled forward, allowing Satya to deliver a rocket knee strike to the nose.

Satya cringed as his nose snapped from the blow. "Mercy, you think you can fix this?" Symmetra asked, diving behind and around parked cars to dodge wild gunshots. She planted a solid light burst from her gun into his chest, blowing him to the ground and giving her the chance to rush him.

"I'm a little busy right now, Symmetra!" Mercy said.

Satya frowned, kicking one gun down the road before he could grab it. She held out her free hand again, bouncing several sawed-off shotgun shells off the wall of light. She folded the wall in on itself and whipped it at him, flattening him to the nearby building. "It's slanted to the left," she said, ducking shots left and right. She got in close, taking a punch to the face but returning quickly with an uppercut of her own. "Now to the right. It bothers me."

"Pay attention to what's important!" Jack hissed, dropping a grenade at her feet and rolling out of the way.

Satya yelped as her light barrier shattered, sending her tumbling back with shots just barely missing her. She kept rolling back, with her light beam taking the form of a white cobra that kept Jack at Bay with long fangs. Symmetra hopped to her feet and the snake curled around her, smirking with its owner at their adversary. "I did. You're out of bullets."

Jack pulled the trigger again, his confidence draining with the empty click of his pistols.

She pointed her snake at him and the beast charged. "It seems perception is _your_ weakness after all!"

Jack prepared to wrangle it but T'Challa flew overhead instead, taking Jack to the ground with him while Kraven laughed. Symmetra watched the king roll to his feet and pull the dazed Jack up with him, knocking him out with one solid spin kick to the chest that took the wind out of him.

"That looks like it hurt," she said, ducking at more gunshots overhead as War Machine roared overhead.

"Come on, little piggy!" he shouted, firing a small missile at Roadhog's feet to knock him to the ground. "Let's take you to market!"

Roadhog whipped his chain hooks at his opponent who was just toying with him. "Push off!"

War Machine cocked his fist back. "Not likely-"

Kraven slammed into Roadhog and the Aussie scrambled to his feet, thanking the stars for the intervention. They didn't shine for him, however, taking a punch to the face by the king pushing past him toward his real opponent.

"I had a cool pig pun and everything, man," War Machine said in disappointment, flying off to help Iron Man.

Tony didn't need it, holding Junkrat against the wall with an energy phaser from his hand. "We'll put you two down under the jail," he said.

"That hurt," Rhodey said, seeing another black flash shoot past Junkrat and leaving him unconscious.

"Yeah, not as much as that," Iron Man said. "I'll get the kid, you make sure his little friend sees him in class tomorrow."

"Got it," Rhodey said, bursting toward D. Va and Shockwave.

Mad Jack looked up at the three armored titans above them, giving Mercy the chance to throw the fiery femme fatale out for revenge off of her. A well-placed shot with Mercy's hand blaster at Mad Jack's glove killed the fire, while the black flash acted again in putting the rest of her out with a blur of a strike. D. Va and Rhodey groaned in pain above them as Shockwave overloaded their suits, with D. Va falling flat on her back. Shockwave blasted Rhodey high into the air and landed on D. Va's chest. "Lights out, kid."

"I'm right here!" Mercy assured her over her own fear, dashing toward them as fast as she could.

"It's not her bedtime yet!" Spider-Man shouted from above, zipping past him with a strike that shattered his mask and sent him spinning to the ground. Toad kept Peter occupied, but Mercy wasn't just a fighter.

Mercy stood over the dazed D. Va, wiping the blood from her nose and lip. "Let me get you patched up," she said.

"No, I can still fight," D. Va said, standing with Mercy and looking toward the battlefield. Symmetra joined them, watching the four Avengers go to work on Toad and Kraven.

"If there's a fight left, that is," Symmetra said, wincing while Toad hit the ground tongue first from Peter's kick.

The rest of the heroes watched T'Challa catch Kraven's last machete and crush it in one hand. "You're done, hunter," he said, kneeing him in the stomach and punching him in the face. "Give up, this does not need to go on any longer."

Kraven used his last bullet to fire the king in the forehead. His entire mask glowed purple with a humming energy. "I will never yield to the likes of-"

T'Challa hit Kraven's head with a headbutt, reflecting the shotgun blast at point blank. Kraven hit a car and landed face first on the ground, out cold. T'Challa tightened his fist. "They _all_ yield."

"That man is durable," War Machine said, flipping up his mask to reveal a dark-skinned, pleasant face, brown eyes, and a friendly, white grin. "All that kinetic energy would have popped anybody else's face like a balloon, just give this guy some vodka when he wakes up the next morning and he'll be fine."

T'Challa greeted his old friend with a quick hug and a hardy handshake. "James Rhodes, back in action?"

"You know it," War Machine said, "I actually liked the vibe Shuri's playlist had going on, I know you guys didn't just let Tony beat you at that."

"See? I told you!" Shuri said from inside their communication system.

"Where are you right now?" Tony asked the young genius. "And yes, I did beat you this time, deal with it."

"Starbucks," she said plainly.

"But you're here, in the UK?"

"Uh, yeah?" Shuri said in confusion. "Why?"

Tony looked around, counting T'Challa, Peter, and Rhodey on his fingers. "Clint, Logan, Bruce," he mumbled under his breath. "Where is _everyone_ else?"

"What is he talking about?" Symmetra asked.

"Avengers business," Tony said quickly, "Rhodey, Your Highness, kid, scratch tonight, I know I told Black Panther this but _you guys_ , if we're the only ones who responded today then that means the rest are nowhere near us right now. I expected a couple stragglers, but I didn't expect it to be this bad."

"Yes you did," Rhodey said.

"Okay, I did," Tony said, "schedule a party for eight and everybody shows up at nine, the point is that this isn't a party, this isn't fashionably late, it's just gross, okay? You're the only guy who showed up this morning ready to rock, when you said the rest were 'delayed' I would have at least appreciated an ETA from the rest of the team." He glanced at Symmetra, keeping her prying, suspicious mind at bay with no more information. "Be there tomorrow at a time I'll disclose when I'm not in front of strangers," Tony ordered, "or you're off the team."

The three non-Avengers' eyes widened at the harsh conditions.

"You can't do that," T'Challa said, "that is not how you convince people to heed your words, Tony."

Tony and the king locked eyes in a quick battle of wills, but the stress and the fatigue in Tony's face wore him down first. "I know, I know," Tony sighed. "This is _really_ important, and if I don't get everyone's opinion on it, then we can't move forward. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I think you owe our new acquaintances here some thanks for keeping things stable while we were getting here," James said, gesturing to Hana and Angela.

Tony rushed to them with his best business smile, shaking Hana's hand quickly. "Hey thanks you did a good job," he said dryly, doing the same for Angela before taking off into the sky. "Be there on time!"

War Machine shrugged at the women. "Don't take it personally, he's going through a lot right now."

"Hey thanks you did a good job," Hana mocked, scowling up at the billionaire as he and his partner vanished into the sky.

T'Challa walked up to Mercy, letting his Vibranium helmet fade away. "There are some errands that I must attend to, regarding this new information. Will I see you tonight?"

Mercy floated above the ground, preparing to take off. "Count on it."

"Then I will pick you up," T'Challa said, turning to Spider-Man. "Just remember your pickup time when Tony tells you. I'll have other business tomorrow morning, so it will be up to you to remember."

"Will do," Spider-Man said, waving to the Panther and the angel fleeing the scene. He turned to D. Va, finding her already gone. He looked at the crowds of people forming around him, simply chuckling nervously before taking off himself. "See ya!" he exclaimed, swinging miles away from the battleground until he was back in the same alleyway with his backpack. He pulled the Kimoyo bead off his stuff to reveal it again, taking off his mask and taking in a sigh of relief. "Man, there were a few close calls back there," he mumbled to himself.

"Tell me about it," Hana's voice said from the other end of the alleyway, making Peter want to cling to the building and crawl away.

Peter whipped around, going pale at his classmate seeing him in the suit. "This... isn't what it looks like."

Hana chuckled. "You don't need to lie about it," D. Va said, walking up to him without fear. Peter turned around, standing face to face with her MEKA. "I'm a superhero too. The only difference between us is that your organization is allowed, mine isn't. I want to change that, so does Mercy, so does Symmetra. We need your help."

"What are you talking about?" Peter asked, bumping into the bot.

She sent him a text, hearing his phone buzz to her delight. "Be there tomorrow, before your Avengers meeting. Lena will have you back in time for the pickup."

"Lena knows?!"

"No, just me and Mercy for right now."

Peter and Hana locked eyes for a moment, giving Peter the moment to calm down. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

"We've been tracking the suspects for your identity for months," D. Va said, "you were on the shortlist thanks to me, Lena considered you far too nerdy for your alter ego. I'd say you did a pretty good job hiding it."

"Yeah, I'm hiding it," Peter said, keeping his insulted sentiment to himself.

"You were, until you confirmed how close you were to Stark," D. Va said triumphantly.

Spider-Man looked at his phone, seeing an unlisted number sending him coordinates. "How do I know I can trust you? Who are you working for?"

The MEKA heard the tension in his voice and slid in between them, only to get pushed aside by the spider. D. Va admired his strength, thanking god that she didn't have to test him herself. "You'll know tomorrow morning. It's imperative that you come alone."

Peter could tell this was a trap of some sort. "My Spidey-Senses aren't tingling, at least not yet," he told himself. "Is this why you brought me out here?" he asked.

"Partially," D. Va said, "it's nice just to get out every once in a while with a friend or two, in the MEKA I'm either swarmed by enemies or fanboys _way_ too old to be watching my movies."

Peter couldn't help but laugh. "I thought you said I was boring."

"You still kinda are," D. Va joked.

"Even now?"

"I'm still down to get coffee."

Peter sighed. "Alright, give me a sec to get changed."

"You don't sound so excited now," Hana said.

"Every time someone finds out who I am, I die a little inside."

"I'm on your side?" D. Va said, turning around and standing lookout at the edge of the alleyway.

"Just don't tell anyone, alright?" Spider-Man said. "Besides, everyone you've told already."

"You'll have to beat me in-game before I say anything."

Peter tapped on her shoulder and she turned around, seeing him back in his street clothes. "Coffee's canceled."

"Aww, you must like me," Hana giggled at his aggravation, tapping her phone and sending the MEKA bot away in its rocket form on standby for the next time she was needed. "I know a place not far from here," she said, leading him down the sidewalks of London with civilians none the wiser to Peter's identity, although some did double take for Hana. "There is much we need to discuss."

* * *

 _On a plane, hurdling over the seas_

"Yes, I would like an orange juice, please," the tall, muscular, fair-skinned man with a chiseled jaw, short, neat blonde hair and heroic blue eyes said to the stewardess, sitting in the economy class, middle seat of his row in a crowded plane cruising over the Atlantic with his friends by his side. He wore a pair of blue jeans, brown boots, and a white shirt with dog tags around his neck. He nudged his friend sitting in the aisle seat. "Isn't that nice, Sam? So much better than peanuts in a bag even I can't open."

Sam was another tall, muscular soldier, with dark skin, short black hair, and intelligent brown eyes with the same heroic aura around him and dog tags, but far less interested in the flight than his friend was. He wore a similar ensemble, a red tee shirt with gray jeans and a black jacket for his arms with combat boots. "It's so lush, Steve," he said dryly and bored, keeping his attention on Candy Crush on his phone.

Steve gasped, graciously taking the Minute Maid orange juice box. "It comes in _boxes_?"

Sam paused the game, pulling out his earbuds and turning his head to stare at him in disbelief. "You've… never seen a juicebox?"

Steve poked the top with the straw, pushing it all the way down. "He's been unfrozen for only a year, Falcon, this is his first commercial flight too as well as mine," the Nordic mountain of muscle sitting in the window seat said with a deep, smooth, and hearty voice with a moderate accent. "He still has much to learn, perhaps process fruit extract housed in a flimsy rectangular prism was not available during his time. I'm glad you found this small joy, Steve Rogers. We do not have these 'juice boxes' on Asgard." He looked like he would bust out of his seat and clothes at any time, towering above his friends with long, wavy, golden locks, a short, neatly trimmed full beard, and lightning blue eyes that looked down at the seat in front of him. He wore blue jeans, Timberland boots, a black shirt and a gray jacket over it that the stewardess could tell was barely keeping his biceps inside. The stewardess noticed a black and gray metal handle jutting out from under the seat in front of his, inscribed with phrases and runes in a language she couldn't make out that enchanted her with its blue glow.

"Would you like one, sir?" she asked him, chuckling nervously at the two strange men. "Maybe you could tell your friends that they can buy these at, uh-" She cleared her throat. "-where did you say you were from again?"

"Asgard," he said with a cheerful grin, only affirming that she was going crazy by the drained look of confusion on her face.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Let me explain," he said, extending her hand with a reassuring smile. "I'm Sam Wilson," he said, "the Falcon."

He pointed with his thumb to the glowing man watching the clouds roll below. "That's Thor," he said, "God of Thunder."

"Hello," Thor said kindly.

"And here?" Sam said to the man in the middle. "Steve Rogers. Captain America." Steve simply nodded in agreement and Sam rolled his eyes, the plane and the stewardess silent except for Steve's loud sucking of the last of the juice from the box. He let out a satisfied sigh.

"A straw on the side, how convenient." He looked up at the stewardess, seeing her stunned in awe of the trio of heroes. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You- you're uh," she stammered, stunned by their presence. "You're very welcome." She blushed. "I just wanted to tell you that you saved my father's life a year ago, in New York," she said earnestly. "Anything you want for the rest of the flight, I'll give you for free. It's the least I can do."

"No need," Sam said, "we were just doing our duty. I'm glad we made an impact."

"Keeping the American way of life secured since 1942," Steve said with a shiny smile.

"Until you became a Fourth of July popsicle," Sam said.

"Wasn't going to mention that, pal," Steve said, shaking the stewardess's hand. "I hope your father's doing well."

"Ditto to Steve's 1942 comment, to whatever number that translates to in Asgardian time," Thor said, "but for Asgard's way of life."

"We knew what you meant," Sam said shortly, smiling back up at the stewardess. "Thanks again."

She nodded, pushing the snack cart back to the front of the car. The row was quiet again, with Sam barely putting in one earbud. "I have to pee," Thor said bluntly, standing up.

"But you didn't drink anything-"

"Excuse me," Thor said, climbing over his friends and standing up at full height.

Sam's earbud came close to his ear again as Thor strode to the bathroom, but Steve wouldn't let his friend rest so easily. "Sam, help me out with the 'in-flight' entertainment they describe in the safety manual here."

"You read those?" Sam asked.

"You never know," Steve said, studying how Falcon's fingers seemed to dance on the screen stuck to the back of the seat in front of them.

"Do you want a TV show, movies, or music?"

Steve stroked his chin, leaning forward at the screen deep in thought. "Do they have Citizen Kane?"

Sam scrolled through the list. "No, but they have every kid's film that has ever been released."

"Why is that?" Steve asked. As if on cue, a baby's loud wail made the entire plane groan. "Okay," Steve shrugged, "how about some music?"

Sam moved to the second list, skipping all the pop and going straight to jazz.

Steve chuckled. "I remember a couple of these guys," he said, letting out another gasp and pointing to one name in particular. " _Miles_ _Davis_?"

"You know him?" Sam said, handing him a pair of earbuds and leaning his head back.

"He blew up, didn't he?" Steve said in astonishment, putting in both.

Sam smiled. "You've got a lot to catch up on, my friend," he said, putting in his earbuds again and closing his app to close his eyes too.

"I remember that kid as a guest musician at a club on 52nd street in Manhattan," Steve said, waking him back up, "an absolute Killer Diller on the trumpet."

"You'll enjoy that," Sam said, " _Kind of Blue_ is considered a national treasure now."

"Gosh, really?" Steve said. "Well isn't that just swell."

Sam closed his eyes again, only to feel a tap on his shoulder from his window seated friend.

" _Killer Diller_ ," Thor chuckled, climbing inconveniently back over them.

Sam looked at Thor and back at Steve. "Do either of you need to get up again soon?"

"I'm alright," Steve said.

"You look tired, Sam," Thor said, "take a nap. We'll be in England in the morning."

"Yeah," Sam said, leaning his head back and just barely grazing the headrest.

"It was the last concert Bucky and I went to before we went knocking on the Red Skull and Hitler's door," Steve said nostalgically, clapping Sam's shoulder and making him jump in his seat.

"I bet that must have been an important concert," Sam said, "if you had any footage, museums would be knocking on your door instead, more than usual nowadays-" Sam yawned.

"Oh, were you trying to sleep?" Steve asked, leaning back in his chair feeling a bit guilty. "Didn't mean to wake you. I'll tell you in the morning. A long day of fighting the bad guys can take it out of you."

Steve closed his eyes, folding his arms and tapping his foot along with the music. Thor was occupied as well, glaring at his iPad with an electrifying glare. "I will defeat you, tiny sprite man," he muttered to his game, "what are you to me? I'm the God of Thunder!"

Sam let out a sigh of relief, his eyelids embracing each other in a warm hug as his body sank into slumber. Another tap on his knee sprung his eyes open like a reverse bear trap.

"Sorry," Steve said, standing up and sliding past his knees uncomfortably. "OJ went right through me."

Sam sighed again in disappointment and just looked ahead at the "enjoy your flight" message on the screen with his face twisted into a scowl.

"Victory is mine," Thor chuckled mischievously under his breath, showing his screen to Sam. "See, the opponent reels in defeat, putting his profanities in all caps. No one on the internet knows I'm actually Thor, and would crush them given they attempted any of their threats behind this screen."

Sam continued looking forward. "14 hours late and a delay," he said bitterly, "I knew I should have taken the Quinjet with Nat."

* * *

 **WELCOME BACK BOYS AND GIRLS**

 **NEW OVERWATCH CHARACTERS INTRODUCED/MENTIONED: SATYA (AS SYMMETRA), JUNKRAT, ROADHOG, HANA (AS D. VA), WINSTON**

 **NEW AVENGERS INTRODUCED/MENTIONED: CAPTAIN AMERICA (AS STEVE ROGERS), SAM WILSON, THOR, DOCTOR STRANGE, SHURI (ALTHOUGH SHE WON'T TECHNICALLY BE AN AVENGER), BLACK WIDOW, WAR MACHINE (JAMES RHODES)**

 **WHAT DID YOU THINK OF THE BIG BEN BRAWL? WHAT WILL T'CHALLA AND PETER DISCOVER IN THEIR DISCREET DEALINGS? WHO IS AKANDE WORKING WITH, OR FOR? WILL FALCON SURVIVE THE FLIGHT TO ENGLAND? WHAT HAS TONY SO WORKED UP THAT HE NEEDS THE WHOLE TEAM? FIND OUT NEXT TIME (WHICH WON'T BE FOREVER I PROMISE Y'ALL) ON PANTHER… SPIDER… IRON BALL Z!**

 **A COUPLE THINGS TO LOOK FORWARD TO IN THE NEXT CHAPTER:**

 **-BLACK PANTHER AND SPIDER-MAN MEETING THIS SHADOWY ORGANIZATION**

 **-TONY STARK ASSEMBLING THE TEAM IN LONDON TO REVEAL WHY HE'S BEEN SO ON EDGE**

 **-CAP, FALCON, AND THOR SHENANIGANS WITH THE OW CREW**

 **-AND YES, THOR, CAP, AND FALCON'S IDENTITY ARE PUBLIC. THIS IS CANON. LIKE ACTUALLY. FIGHT ME.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Y'all so some news [revised from my last update]**

 **As you may have guessed, the update times have been getting farther apart**

 **Got sick recently (for like, a month) plus school has been relentless, but anyway:**

 **I'm going to take an indefinite break from FF to focus on school/life; i don't want to update when I feel rushed, to give you guy content. I plan on finishing 9 stories/series, 9's a concrete number to end on (but this may change, tbh my life's kinda a mess), before leaving FF which I will list below:**

 _ **The New Face of Justice (series)-**_ **completed**

 _ **Kakashi ga Kill**_ **\- in progress**

 _ **Living the Past (sequel to "A New Titan" and "Winner Take All")- in progress**_

 _ **Star Wars: the X-Effect- in progress**_

 _ **Secret Wars- in progress**_

 _ **The Last Sons- in progress**_

 _ **Untitled BNHA crossover- in progress**_

 _ **Untitled Naruto crossover- in planning**_

 _ **Untitled DBZ crossover- in planning**_

 **Finally, this whole process should take 2-3 years, with KGK and LTP finishing this year. I'm telling y'all this super early bc I hate writers who spring it on readers that it's their last story, or those who just ghost completely. I'll remind y'all this and update every now and again, so you guys don't feel up and abandoned.**

 **I'm not going to finish this story, sadly. I stopped playing Overwatch awhile ago due to school and never really got back into it during breaks. Thus, when I came back to update, I wasn't feeling the same passion for it at all. That was part of the reason for this taking so long, along with school and work not letting me have nice things. This story's up for grabs if someone wants to finish it.**

* * *

 _The Next Morning..._

"You're not doing a very good job at representing your organization if you cannot bring in your target on time," T'Challa said, leaning against the door of the bathroom in his penthouse hotel room. He looked out the window wall, seeing the heart of downtown London several stories below them in the early, gray and snowy morning. He looked down at the purple carpet, his face going a tad red upon seeing Angela's black bra thrown carelessly onto the ground from the night before, along with the fairly disheveled black bed against the white walls.

"Could you please be patient?" Angela shouted over the running water from inside the shower.

"At this rate, I could walk to the airport and fly back home by the time you come out."

"I'm washing my hair!" Angela shouted.

T'Challa scoffed, looking at himself in the mirror. He always looked his best, wearing a black suit, a black dress shirt, and a purple tie with silver swirls down the center. He straightened his tie a bit and stepped forward as the bathroom door flew open with Angela rushing out in a white tee shirt and baggy pajama pants with her hair still drenched.

"Give me thirty minutes," she said.

"I'm going to tell your organiser exactly how this morning went," T'Challa said.

"You wanted me here," she said, putting on a white blouse, blue jeans, and a pair of brown winter boots, "what does it say about the target when he wants to be captured?"

T'Challa checked his Kimoyo beads with a smirk. "That he was never caught in the first place." He flicked another caduceus tracker off the back of his tie. "You can stop following me now- _I'm_ driving _you_ there."

"Now it's a game," Mercy said, putting her makeup away and putting on her warm brown coat., "I want you to find the third one."

T'Challa cocked an eyebrow. "I would have noticed a third one."

Mercy chuckled, pecking him on the cheek as they walked out of his room. "You don't hide them to be noticed."

The two heroes in plain clothing stepped into the elevator when T'Challa's Kimoyo beads started to buzz. T'Challa tapped them together and a holographic American blond man with bright blue eyes popped up in front of them showing just the head and the upper half of his muscular torso. He wore a plain gray tee shirt with dog tags around his neck. The two men smiled at each other, with Mercy guessing that they hadn't seen each other for quite some time. "Your Highness," the man said to the king.

"Captain," the king responded.

"Don't know if you were told," he said with a bright, American accent, "but we're holding the get together a bit later than originally expected- who's here?"

"Me, Tony, and the boy," T'Challa said. The doors opened and the heroes walked outside into the cold, winter air under gray, cloudy morning skies as a low-riding, sleek black Bugatti rolled into the valet loop. It held a purple aura around it, with its headlights beaming the same silver and periwinkle given off by his suit. "I will meet him soon."

"Oh, don't worry about that," the captain said, "Sam and I are picking him up for breakfast, since we're in the neighborhood. Haven't seen him since New York."

"You have his number, right?" T'Challa said. "I know he is picky about who _sees_ him, Steve."

Steve chuckled. "Figured we'd just drop by," he said, "give him a little surprise. It'll be a good warm-up for _whatever we're doing_."

Steve's eyes darted toward the woman's standing next to him and they locked on accidentally. "Hey there," he said with a heroic grin.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, T'Challa?" Angela asked.

"Doctor Angela Ziegler, and I can speak for myself," she said with a smirk.

"My apologies, doctor," the captain chuckled. "Steve Rogers." He looked away from both heroes, nodding to someone out of the call. "I have to go. See you later, T'Challa."

The king ended the call and tapped his beads again, making the doors to the car spread open as if the doors were made from the same mesh that made his suit. "After you," he said, walking her to the passenger's side as he walked around the car, slipping into the driver's seat.

Angela waited until the doors were closed to pull out her phone, glowing orange and gray as she moved past the lock screen. "Captain America and you are close friends, yes?"

T'Challa nodded. "I helped him and a friend of his through some difficult times, but more often than not, _work_ kept us in close contact."

"So you did more than the job in New York?" Angela asked.

"Not with the _whole_ team," he said, "our cases over the past few years overlapped. I hadn't been in the states for awhile since leaving Harvard, so I needed someone I could trust keeping watch."

"How big is the _whole_ team?" Angela asked, seeing his mouth twitch in slight annoyance.

"I already told you I'm coming with you to meet your organization," he said, "in fact I'm driving us there now."

Angela rolled her eyes. "That's the least invasive question I've asked so far. I can tell you about my team instead," she giggled, "to make things 'fair.'"

"You don't need to," he said, "I'll meet them, and you'll meet us, in good time."

"In 23 minutes actually, if Google Maps is correct," Angela said. "Our intel said 19 members, but I assume you have agents across the globe."

T'Challa started fiddling with the radio as they turned onto the street driving quietly and smoothly. "Have some mercy, please. I can't go around simply telling you all my secrets."

Angela groaned. "And how long were you waiting to use that?"

"An hour- the boy is rubbing off on me, I'm afraid," T'Challa said nonchalantly, finding a station playing pop. "What do you listen to?"

"I don't really care," she said.

T'Challa took his hand away from the radio and she immediately changed it, cycling through the stations several times as they sailed down the highways. They locked eyes for a moment, Mercy catching Black Panther's perplexed expression.

"What?"

"I have an aux cord," he said. A port next to the volume knob on his futuristic, glowing state of the art sound system opened with a cord attached to a flat disc the diameter of a golf ball. "Tap your phone on the receiver."

Angela was again pleasantly surprised when the disc wrapped around the base of the phone and connected it to the car with a ping. " _Now playing Redbone, Childish Gambino._ "

T'Challa chuckled as the song started to play, catching Angela's attention again. "What now?"

"You know," he said, "my intel has made a relevant claim to our situation at the moment."

"Well don't just tell me that and not say it," Mercy said, leaning back in her seat and watching him with a small smile.

"Alright, but you cannot share this with anyone," T'Challa said.

"And here I was getting excited," Mercy said, knowing by his curling lips that he wasn't being serious.

"Childish Gambino?" he said anyway. "Donald Glover?"

Mercy groaned again. "Oh my god…"

"Same person."

"This isn't the man I met yesterday," she said, "are you the real T'Challa?"

"If you expect everything that comes out of my mouth will be a secret of my organization, then you're going to have a bad time."

"I'm just doing it to get on your nerves," Angela teased, poking her tongue out at him. "We're here, let's get somewhere alone and cloak the vehicle."

T'Challa smirked. "Not a problem."

They took an exit that wrapped around to the thickets Angela was referring to and slid off the road and under the overpass. T'Challa tapped a button on the hologram interface just over the radio and stepped out. Angela did the same, turning around and seeing only the grass between her and the king. "Built-in invisibility, I like it," she said, heading toward the forest nearly pulling T'Challa along as they disappeared into the trees. "Keep up, T'Challa, everyone's extremely eager to meet you!

* * *

 _Heathrow Airport..._

"Hello? Peter?" Steve said over the phone, waiting by the baggage claim with Thor and Sam. He heard an automated voicemail drone back to him that Peter wasn't there at the moment.

"Is he picking up?" Thor asked, posing with a couple fans before handing them their suitcases.

"No, he's not," he said, putting his phone in his pocket. "I hope we won't be intruding on anything."

"We have to pick him up anyway for the meeting later," Sam said, pulling his backpack off the claim belt, "in any case, it might just be better to get him after we visit Tony- he seemed pretty stressed about your input on his 'project' specifically."

"It's because we usually disagree on things," Steve said, rubbing the back of his head from stress. "He's a great guy, but New York would have gone much better had he listened to me the first time."

"New York is in the past, my frozen friend," Thor said, clapping his friend's shoulder. "I think a partner like Tony is perfect, you two balance each other out fairly well."

"Yeah, like fire and fire," Sam said.

Steve tried Peter's number again, this time getting sent directly to voicemail. "I told him never to do that…" he muttered to himself. "You and Thor can go say hi to Tony now if you want, I'm going to check in on the kid anyway."

"He might be in class," Sam said.

"Why are you so worried, Steve?" Thor said, hefting his duffel bag over his shoulder. "He handled himself fine yesterday, with our feline friend watching him, I'm sure he'll be fine."

"That's just it, I spoke to him this morning, the boy wasn't with him," Steve said. "I guess I'm just a little paranoid after hearing the news this morning, that's all."

"I'll let Tony know that you'll touch base with him a little later, before the meeting of course," Sam said, "Thor, where are you headed?"

Thor tapped his chin as they walked out, feeling the rush of cold London air blow their hair back. "I'll keep Steve company for now, get his spirits high again."

"Sounds good," Sam said, "how are you guys getting there? Uber?"

Thor and Steve blinked at him.

"Lyft?"

"Oh, yeah, the taxi app?" Steve said. "Uber's the same thing?"

"Uber's the same thing."

Steve chuckled. "That. We're doing that."

"I could also fly," Thor suggested, ignoring the cameras flashing around him.

"How would I get there?" Steve asked, calling the Lyft in slow, careful movements on his phone.

"You would sit on my back," Thor said, "like Aladdin and his magic carpet, or Jasmine, if you want to sing the high notes."

"You guys give me a headache," Sam laughed, "my ride's here, see you guys soon!"

Thor and Steve waved him off as their ride rolled past him. Steve and Thor slid into the back seat of the car and Thor slid his duffel bag over their legs. "You can put that in the trunk if you want," their driver said.

"No, uh," Thor chuckled, "I prefer to keep the item inside the bag close to me at all times."

The driver looked perplexed in the rearview mirror but didn't question it, taking them all the way to the parking lot of a flat in the middle of the grassy hills, far away from downtown London. "Here is fine, thanks!" Steve said, handing the driver a dollar as they slipped out of the car.

They looked up at the building. They looked normal enough, with Steve still wearing the casual military outfit from the plane and Thor failing to hide his Olympian physique under his street clothes. They definitely seemed as if they didn't belong there, however, with Steve staring at the apartment call box intercom. "T'Challa never mentioned which apartment he was in."

"That seems like some fairly crucial info for this entire outing," Thor said bluntly.

"Well I know that now," Steve said with slight irritation, feeling his cellphone buzz. He pulled it out, smiling at the name that flashed across the screen. "Peter! We're outside."

"Outside where?" Peter asked on the other line with a yawn. An older gentleman hobbled his way out the door and the two visitors took advantage, with Steve helping the man to his car and Thor holding the door open. "Sorry for missing your calls, I didn't recognize your new number and you didn't leave a message so I assumed you were that telemarketer from AT&T I told to-"

"Don't worry about it, Sam figured you were in class or something," Steve said, walking into the building with Thor and scaling the stairs.

"I have a lock on him," Thor said, holding a smaller phone with a red spider blinking on the screen.

"It's seven in the morning, class can't start for another hour-" Peter stopped himself. "Forget about it. So, where are you?"

"Your apartment building," Steve said, "I thought we'd say hello real fast, maybe get some breakfast if you have time."

"Oh, I, uh," Peter stammered, "I don't know, actually- I'll tell you in a sec, kinda can't talk right-"

"Found him," Thor said, leaning against the wall by the door the tracker led them to."

"We're here," Steve said, "we won't be long, just checking in."

Steve knocked on the door, hearing busied shuffling inside. "Who is it?" an English woman said from the other side of the door, sounding as if she was in a rush and didn't have time for visitors.

"We've come for the boy," Thor said, with Steve slapping him in the chest.

"Dial the drama back a little, would you?" Steve said.

The door opened, with the alert face of the freckled, British woman wiping some of her short, wet brown hair out of the way of her bright green eyes greeting them curiously wearing a white bathrobe and slippers. "Can I help you-" Her eyes flew open as she immediately met his blushing embarrassed smile as he shrunk away from the door, sheepishly running his hand through his hair and averting his bright blue eyes away from her, with her recognizing immediately just who he was. She wasn't ready to meet him, nor Tony, nor any of the main four, yet. He also just happened to be the cutest, in her humble, very biased, opinion that was showing all over her face.

"Sorry, ma'am, I didn't- we didn't know you weren't-" Steve cleared his throat, still slightly red but brave enough to push himself from the wall again. "Steve Rogers," he said with his best "play it off" smile, extending his hand. "My friend and I are looking for a Peter Parker, is he around?"

She nodded slowly, seeing Thor behind him with his smile yet still looking intimidating by his sheer size. "I'm Lena Oxton, his host while he stays here." Lena looked back over her shoulder, trying to keep her anxiety from the unexpected visit showing.

"Well, Miss Oxton," Steve said, shaking her hand. "I hope he hasn't given you too much trouble. We were just hoping to say hello, we haven't seen him in awhile."

"How do you know Peter?" Lena asked, wanting to hear if they had been told anything about her or her organization.

"Just some friends, Lena!" Peter shouted from the back, running out in blue jeans, a plain red shirt, and a white jacket with white gym shoes. "Sorry guys, I can't really talk right now," he said, hearing her skitter to the back and shut herself in her room while the nosy neighbors took a long look at the two men standing in front of Lena's door as they passed. "Come inside," Peter said, stepping out and greeting the neighbors with quick, rough handshakes. "Hi! Hello! I _love_ when _people_ stare!" He shuffled the two heroes inside and shut the door on the neighbors' faces.

"What's all the hush hush about, kid?" Steve said.

"Yes, regale us on your European adventure," Thor said, setting his important bag down.

Peter chuckled nervously, hearing the door to Lena's room open. "I was going to tell you after, but you got here earlier than expected."

"Don't go beating around the bush, Pete," Steve said, "just tell me what's going-"

"We're going to be late, Peter," Lena said, stepping out in an orange, form-fitting jumpsuit with "Tracer" written in block lettering on her inner thigh. She threw on her brown air force jacket over it and reached into a drawer in the kitchen, revealing a hidden compartment containing a shining blue energy core of sorts that she fastened to her chest via a harness. Finally, she fastened a pair of bright orange goggles to her face and holstered two white pistols unlike any weapon the three Avengers had seen before. She smirked particularly at Steve's face, staring at her with his mouth slightly ajar. "Catching flies, Captain?"

Steve turned toward Peter sharply. "Who _exactly_ are you staying with?"

Lena tossed Peter his mask. "We were going to tell you sooner or later," she said, "but you can come with us to find out- just keep Tony out of it for now. We wanted to introduce ourselves in smaller groups, so that none of you are influenced by any of the members we think are the hardest to convince to take part in our plans."

Steve and Thor shared a wary look, following Peter and Lena out of the building. Steve blinked, and Lena had vanished, leaving only traces of the blue energy that floated in her core. He turned around to the window open and Thor and Peter leaping out of it. "Nothing's _normal_ anymore," he muttered, taking the stairs and meeting them around Lena's car.

"Get in," she told them, taking the front seat.

Steve held Peter back, leaning into the window. "Before we go anywhere, you have to tell us who you are."

"I'll show you," she said, pressing the steering wheel to make the same orange and grey insignia Peter had seen earlier light up the wheels as well. "You'd learn faster if the rest of your body was in the car."

Steve took the passenger's seat with Thor and Peter in the back. "Seat belts," Steve said, looking right at Thor.

"If we crashed, i would hurt the car," Thor said.

"Put it on," Steve warned again, making Thor roll his eyes.

Thor clicked the seat belt buckle into place. "Damn you, Rogers-"

"Language," Steve cut in, making Lena chuckle. Steve looked over. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Lena said, taking off onto the road. "This is going to be fun."

* * *

 **So yeah again this story's up for grabs but I left it open enough for people to**

 **Maybe I'll post this again and finish it if I get back into OW, but I** _ **really**_ **don't see that happening**

 ** **Thanks to everyone who read it though!****


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